as  as  as  as  as  as  a 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Kenneth  Maogowan 


I 


IF 


IF 


A  PLAY  IN  FOUR  ACTS 
BY  LORD  DUNSANY 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 
imfcfterbocher    ptees 
1922 


Copyright,  1922 

by 
Edward  Plunkett 

Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


College 
Library 


60 


DEDICATED 

TO 

R.  A.  H.  PLUNKETT 


.72356 


FOREWORD 

To  praise  a  new  play  of  Dunsany's  is,  to  my 
mind,  like  commending  a  sunset  as  a  satisfac- 
tory event,  or  expressing  a  favorable  opinion 
of  the  beauty  of  flowers.  Which  emphasizes 
the  remarkable  fact  that  this  author  has  no 
lukewarm  admirers,  or  temperate  cavilers. 
Readers  of  both  his  prose  and  plays  divide 
themselves  into  antithetical  groups:  those 
who  read  with  cool,  abstract,  analytical  con- 
sciousness, and  those  who  so  lose  themselves 
in  "eternal  and  ancient  lands"  that  they  for- 
get language,  style,  the  author  himself,  and 
only  when  the  tale  is  past,  the  play  ended,  do 
they  become  again  aware  of  the  world  and  its 
lesser  affairs,  remember  and  appreciate  the 
conceiver  of  these  words  and  phrases,  and 
become  conscious  of  some  faint  protest  from 
the  wholly  confused,  self-controlled  critics 
who,  like  Miss  Cubbidge's  school-friend  feel 
that  "it  is  not  Proper  for  you  to  be  there." 

Hence  any  foreword  such  as  this  can  be 
only  a  very  personal  thing.  If  I  were  as  frank 
vii 


FOREWORD 

as  critics  are  supposed  to  be,  or  brief  as  book- 
reviewers  ought  to,  or  direct  as  a  head-liner, 
I  might  sum  it  all  up  in  a  single  sentence :  I 
am  tremendously  fond  of  Dunsany  and  his 
work,  and  I  am  sorry  for  you  if  you're  not ! 

The  law  of  compensation  is  ever  operative 
and  those  who  find  no  thrill,  no  emotion  of 
utter  delight  in  these  tales  and  plays,  must 
surely  draw  from  some  other  source  of  life's 
pleasure,  real  surfeit,  of  which  we,  his  devo- 
tees, are  ignorant.  I  have  read  "The  Exiles' 
Club"  probably  forty  times,  in  crowded  hotel 
lobbies,  in  green  and  steamy  jungles,  in  an 
upper  berth  swinging  through  an  arc  of 
ninety  degrees,  and  I  look  forward  to  the 
forty-first  reading  with  the  certain  knowledge 
of  complete  absorption.  I  know  that  the  four 
words  "I  am  the  last"  in  "Charon,"  and  the 
other  four,  "It  was  new  then"  in  "The  Song 
of  the  Blackbird"  will  seem  as  fresh  at  the 
next  as  at  the  first  reading.  There  is  very 
probably  some  definite  reason  for  such  un- 
reasoning obsession  as  this,  but  I  can  neither 
name  nor  phrase  it.  Whether  Dunsany  pic- 
tures little  god  Jabim  sorrowing  on  a  kitchen 
midden,  or  pirates  sailing  in  a  wheeled 
brig  through  the  Sahara,  or  the  men  of  Dales- 
wood  scrawling  their  love  of  home  in  a 
viii 


FOREWORD 

doomed  front-line  trench,  he  compels  my 
complete  surrender  of  consciousness  to  his 
theme.  And  when  such  is  the  case,  specific 
criticism  is  impossible. 

Humanity  overwhelmingly  prefers  photo- 
graphy to  painting — the  negative  of  a  battle- 
field to  Toten  Insel,  O.  Henry  to  Maeterlinck, 
Conrad  to  Blackwood,  Stevenson  to  Stephens. 
My  own  life,  as  a  scientist,  I  find  is  a  never- 
ending  attempt  to  turn  painting  into  photo- 
graphy— fairy  tales  into  drab  reality — to 
interpret  in  terms  of  physics,  chemistry,  in- 
teraction, or  some  sort  of  understandable 
truth,  such  miracles  as  the  change  from  cater- 
pillar to  butterfly,  the  assumption  of  cock's 
plumage  by  a  hen  pheasant.  While  the  en- 
thusiasm of  the  study  of  bird  and  beast,  of 
feeble  inquiry  into  the  evolution  of  life,  while 
the  joy  of  all  this  is  beyond  words,  yet  the 
ultimate  solution,  the  resolving  of  the  miracle, 
automatically  denudes  the  problem  of  its 
greatest  attraction,  and  we  throw  it  aside  and 
turn  to  the  next.  Two  and  two  must  surely 
hold  more  of  unconscious  fascination  for  a 
child,  than  the  eternal  certainty  of  their 
known  sum ;  some  of  the  thrill  in  the  mysteri- 
ous hieroglyphics  of  a  gorgeous  black  and 
gold  Chinese  sign  is  lost  when  it  is  interpreted 
ix 


FOREWORD 

as  advertising  an  imported  hair  oil.  And  so 
perhaps  my  sheer,  uncritical  joy  in  a  play  such 
as  the  "If"  of  the  present  volume,  is  due  to 
the  relief  of  leavening  the  dull  main  street 
of  life  with  flowers  of  Carcassonne,  or  as  in 
this  case,  with  the  crystal  of  AH ;  a  relief  from 
the  eternal  straight  line  or  triangle  drama, 
which  can  develop  or  end  only  happily  or 
unhappily,  to  a  play  which  begins  in  a  spirit 
of  comedy,  develops  mysteriously,  and  ends 
satisfactorily. 

WILLIAM  BEEBE. 

NEW  YORK, 

December  10,  1921. 


IF 


DRAMATIS  PERSONA 

JOHN  BEAL 
MARY  BEAL 
LIZA 
ALI 

BILL  ! 

BERT  I        «w«wy  porters 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  CORNER 
MIRALDA  CLEMENT 
HAFIZ  EL  ALCOLAHN 
DAOUD 
ARCHIE  BEAL 
BAZZALOL 


THOOTHOOBABA          Nubian 
BEN  HUSSEIN,  Lord  of  the  Pass 
ZABNOOL 


OMAR,  a  singer 
ZAGBOOLA,  mother  of  Hafiz 
THE  SHEIK  OF  THE  BISHAREENS 

Notables,  soldiers  Bishareens,  dancers,  etc. 


IF 

ACT  I 

SCENE  i 

A  small  railway  station  near  London. 
Time:     Ten  years  ago. 

BERT 
'Ow  goes  it,  Bill? 

BILL 
Goes  it  ?    'Ow  d'yer  think  it  goes  ? 

BERT 
I  don't  know,  Bill.    'Ow  is  it? 

BILL 
Bloody. 

BERT 

Why?    What's  wrong? 

BILL 

Wrong?    Nothing  ain't  wrong. 

BERT 

What 'sup  then? 

3 


IF 

BILL 

Nothing  ain't  right. 

BERT 
Why,  wot's  the  worry? 

BILL 

Wot's  the  worry?  They  don't  give  you 
better  wages  nor  a  dog,  and  then  they  thinks 
they  can  talk  at  yer  and  talk  at  yer,  and  say 
wot  they  likes,  like. 

BERT 

Why?    You  been  on  the  carpet,  Bill? 

BILL 
Ain't  I !  Proper. 

BERT 
Why,  wot  about,  Bill? 

BILL 

Wot  about?  I'll  tell  yer.  Just  coz  I  let 
a  lidy  get  into  a  train.  That's  wot  about. 
Said  I  ought  to  'av  stopped  'er.  Thought  the 
train  was  moving.  Thought  it  was  dangerous. 
Thought  I  tried  to  murder  'er,  I  suppose. 

BERT 
Wot?  The  other  day? 

BILL 
Yes. 


IF 

BERT 

Tuesday? 

BILL 
Yes. 

BERT 
Why.     The  one  that  dropped  her  bag? 

BILL 

Yes.  Drops  'er  bag.  Writes  to  the  com- 
pany. They  writes  back  she  shouldn't  'av 
got  in.  She  writes  back  she  should.  Then 
they  gets  on  to  me.  Any  more  of  it  and 
I'll  .  .  . 

BERT 
I  wouldn't,  Bill;  don't  you. 

BILL 
I  will. 

BERT 

Don't  you,  Bill.  You've  got  your  family 
to  consider. 

BILL 

Well,  anyway,  I  won't  let  any  more  of 
them  passengers  go  jumping  into  trains  any 
more,  not  when  they're  moving,  I  won't. 
When  the  train  gets  in,  doors  shut.  That's 
the  rule.  And  they'll  'ave  to  abide  by  it. 

5 


IF 

BERT 

Well,  I  wouldn't  stop  one,  not  if  ... 

BILL 

I  don't  care.  They  ain't  going  to  'ave  me 
on  the  mat  again  and  talk  all  that  stuff  to 
me.  No,  if  someone  'as  to  suffer  .  .  . 
'Ere  she  is.  .  .  . 

[Noise  of  approaching  train  heard.] 

BERT 

Ay,  that's  her. 

BILL 

And  shut  goes  the  door. 
[Enter  JOHN  BEAL.] 

BERT 
Wait  a  moment,  Bill. 

BILL 

Not  if  he's  .    .    .   Not  if  he  was  ever  so. 

JOHN  [preparing  to  pass] 
Good  morning.   .    .    . 

BILL 

Can't  come  through.    Too  late. 
6 


IF 

JOHN 

Too  late?    Why,  the  train's  only  just  in. 

BILL 
Don't  care.    It's  the  rule. 

JOHN 
O,  nonsense.    [He  carries  on.} 

BILL 
It's  too  late.    I  tell  you  you  can't  come. 

JOHN 

But  that's  absurd.     I  want  to  catch  my 
train. 

BILL 

It's  too  late. 

BERT 
Let  him  go,  Bill. 

BILL 

I'm  blowed  if  I  let  him  go. 

JOHN 
I  want  to  catch  my  train. 

[JOHN  is  stopped  by  BILL  and  pushed 
back  by  the  face.  JOHN  advances  towards 
BILL  looking  like  fighting.  The  train  has 
gone.] 

7 


IF 


BILL 

Only  doing  my  duty. 

[JOHN  stops  and  reflects  at  this,  deciding 
it  isn't  good  enough.  He  shrugs  his 
shoulders,  turns  round  and  goes  away.} 

JOHN 

I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  I  didn't  get  even 
with  you  one  of  these  days,  you  .  .  .  and 
some  way  you  won't  expect. 

Curtain 

SCENE  2 

Yesterday  evening. 

[Curtain  rises  on  JOHN  and  MARY  in 
their  suburban  home.} 

JOHN 

I  say,  dear.  Don't  you  think  we  ought  to 
plant  an  acacia? 

MARY 
An  acacia,  what's  that,  John? 

JOHN 
O,  it's  one  of  those  trees  that  they  have. 

MARY 
But  why,  John  ? 

8 


IF 


JOHN 

Well,  you  see  the  house  is  called  The  Aca- 
cias, and  it  seems  rather  silly  not  to  have  at 
least  one. 

MARY 

O,  I  don't  think  that  matters.  Lots  of 
places  are  called  lots  of  things.  Everyone 
does. 

JOHN 

Yes,  but  it  might  help  the  postman. 

MARY 

O,  no,  it  wouldn't,  dear.  He  wouldn't 
know  an  acacia  if  he  saw  it  any  more  than  I 
should. 

JOHN 

Quite  right,  Mary,  you're  always  right. 
What  a  clever  head  you've  got ! 

MARY 

Have  I,  John?  We'll  plant  an  acacia  if 
you  like.  I'll  ask  about  it  at  the  grocer's. 

JOHN 
You  can't  get  one  there. 

MARY 

No,  but  he's  sure  to  know  where  it  can  be 
got. 

9 


IF 

JOHN 

Where  do  they  grow,  Mary? 
MARY 

I  don't  know,  John;  but  I  am  sure  they  do, 
somewhere. 

JOHN 

Somehow  I  wish  sometimes,  I  almost  wish 
I  could  have  gone  abroad  for  a  week  or  so  to 
places  like  where  acacias  grow  naturally. 

MARY 

O,  would  you  really,  John? 
JOHN 

No,  not  really.  But  I  just  think  of  it 
sometimes. 

MARY 

Where  would  you  have  gone? 

JOHN 

O,  I  don't  know.  The  East  or  some  such 
place.  I've  often  heard  people  speak  of  it, 
and  somehow  it  seemed  so  ... 

MARY 

The  East,  John?  Not  the  East.  I  don't 
think  the  East  somehow  is  quite  respectable. 

JOHN 

O  well,  it's  all  right,  I  never  went,  and 
never  shall  go  now.  It  doesn't  matter. 

10 


IF 


MARY  [the  photographs  catching  her  eye] 

O,  John,  I  meant  to  tell  you.  Such  a  dread- 
ful thing  happened. 

JOHN 

What,  Mary? 

MARY 

Well,  Liza  was  dusting  the  photographs, 
and  when  she  came  to  Jane's  she  says  she 
hadn't  really  begun  to  dust  it,  only  looked  at 
it,  and  it  fell  down,  and  that  bit  of  glass  is 
broken  right  out  of  it. 

JOHN 

Ask  her  not  to  look  at  it  so  hard  another 
time. 

MARY 

O,  wrhat  do  you  mean,  John  ? 

JOHN 

Well,  that's  how  she  broke  it;  she  said  so, 
and  as  I  know  you  believe  in  Liza  .  .  . 

MARY 
Well,  I  can't  think  she'd  tell  a  lie,  John. 

JOHN 

No,  of  course  not.  But  she  mustn't  look 
so  hard  another  time. 

ii 


IF 

MARY 

And  it's  poor  little  Jane's  photograph. 
She  will  feel  it  so. 

JOHN 
O,  that's  all  right,  we'll  get  it  mended. 

MARY 

Still,  it's  a  dreadful  thing  to  have  happened. 

JOHN 

We'll  get  it  mended,  and  if  Jane  is  unhappy 
about  it  she  can  have  Alice's  frame.  Alice 
is  too  young  to  notice  it. 

MARY 
She  isn't,  John.     She'd  notice  it  quick. 

JOHN 
Well,  George,  then. 

MARY  [looking  at  photo  thoughtfully] 

Well,  perhaps  George  might  give  up  his 
frame. 

JOHN 

Yes,  tell  Liza  to  change  it.  Why  not  make 
her  do  it  now  ? 

MARY 

Not  to-day,  John.  Not  on  a  Sunday. 
She  shall  do  it  to-morrow  by  the  time  you  get 
back  from  the  office. 

12 


IF 

JOHN 
All  right.    It  might  have  been  worse. 

MARY 
It's  bad  enough.  I  wish  it  hadn't  happened. 

JOHN 

It  might  have  been  worse.  It  might  have 
been  Aunt  Martha. 

MARY 

I'd  sooner  it  had  been  her  than  poor  little 
Jane. 

JOHN 

If  it  had  been  Aunt  Martha's  photograph 
she'd  have  walked  in  next  day  and  seen  it  for 
certain ;  I  know  Aunt  Martha.  Then  there'd 
have  been  trouble. 

MARY 
But,  John,  how  could  she  have  known? 

JOHN 

I  don't  know,  but  she  would  have;  it's  a 
kind  of  devilish  sense  she  has. 

MARY 
John! 

JOHN 

What's  the  matter? 
13 


IF 


MARY 

John!  What  a  dreadful  word  you  used. 
And  on  a  Sunday  too !  Really ! 

JOHN 

O,  I'm  sorry.  It  slipped  out  somehow. 
I'm  very  sorry. 

[Enter  LIZA.] 

LIZA 

There's  a  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir,  which 
isn't,  properly  speaking,  a  gentleman  at  all. 
Not  what  I  should  call  one,  that  is,  like. 

MARY 

Not  a  gentleman!  Good  gracious,  Liza! 
Whatever  do  you  mean  ? 

LIZA 
He's  black. 

MARY 
Black? 

JOHN  [reassuring 

O  .  .  .  yes,  that  would  be  Ali.  A  queer 
old  customer,  Mary ;  perfectly  harmless.  Our 
firm  gets  hundreds  of  carpets  through  him; 
and  then  one  day  .  .  . 

MARY 
But  what  is  he  doing  here,  John  ? 


IF 


JOHN 

Well,  one  day  he  turned  up  in  London; 
broke,  he  said;  and  wanted  the  firm  to  give 
him  a  little  cash.  Well,  old  Briggs  was  for 
giving  him  ten  shillings.  But  I  said  "here's 
a  man  that's  helped  us  in  making  thousands 
of  pounds.  Let's  give  him  fifty." 

MARY 
Fifty  pounds ! 

JOHN 

Yes,  it  seems  a  lot ;  but  it  seemed  only  fair. 
Ten  shillings  would  have  been  an  insult  to 
the  old  fellow,  and  he'd  have  taken  it  as  such. 
You  don't  know  what  he'd  have  done. 

MARY 

Well,  he  doesn't  want  more? 
JOHN 

No,  I  expect  he's  come  to  thank  me.  He 
seemed  pretty  keen  on  getting  some  cash. 
Badly  broke,  you  see.  Don't  know  what  he  was 
doing  in  London.  Never  can  tell  with  these 
fellows.  East  is  East,  and  there's  an  end  of  it. 

MARY 

How  did  he  trace  you  here? 
JOHN 

O,  got  the  address  at  the  office.  Briggs 
and  Cater  won't  let  theirs  be  known.  Not 
got  such  a  smart  little  house,  I  expect. 

15 


IF 


MARY 

I  don't  like  letting  people  in  that  you  don't 
know  where  they  come  from. 

JOHN 
O,  he  comes  from  the  East. 

MARY 

Yes,  I — I  know.  But  the  East  doesn't  seem 
quite  to  count,  somehow,  as  the  proper  sort  of 
place  to  come  from,  does  it,  dear? 

JOHN 

No. 

MARY 

It's  not  like  Sydenham  or  Bromley,  some 
place  you  can  put  your  finger  on. 

JOHN 

Perhaps  just  for  once,  I  don't  think  there's 
any  harm  in  him. 

MARY 

Well,  just  for  once.  But  we  can't  make  a 
practice  of  it.  And  you  don't  want  to  be 
thinking  of  business  on  a  Sunday,  your  only 
day  off. 

JOHN 

O,  it  isn't  business,  you  know.    He  only 
wants  to  say  thank  you. 
16 


IF 


MARY 

I  hope  he  won't  say  it  in  some  queer 
Eastern  way.  You  don't  know  what  these 
people  .  .  . 

JOHN 
O,  no.    Show  him  up,  Liza. 

LIZA 

As  you  like,  mum. 
[Exit.] 

MARY 
And  you  gave  him  fifty  pounds? 

JOHN 

Well,  old  Briggs  agreed  to  it.  So  I  suppose 
that's  what  he  got.  Cater  paid  him. 

MARY 

It  seems  a  lot  of  money.  But  I  think,  as 
the  man  is  actually  coming  up  the  stairs, 
I'm  glad  he's  got  something  to  be  grateful 
for. 

[Enter  ALI,  shown  in  by  LIZA.] 

ALI 

Protector  of  the  Just. 

JOHN 

O,  er — yes.    Good  evening. 
17 


ALI 

My  soul  was  parched  and  you  bathed  it 
in  rivers  of  gold. 

JOHN 
O,  ah,  yes. 

ALI 

Wherefore  the  nameBriggs,  Cater,  and  Beal 
shall  be  magnified  and  called  blessed. 

JOHN 
Ha,  yes.    Very  good  of  you. 

ALI  [advancing,  handing  trinket] 
Protector  of  the  Just,  my  offering. 

JOHN 
Your  offering? 

ALI 

Hush.  It  is  beyond  price.  I  am  not 
bidden  to  sell  it.  I  was  in  my  extremity,  but 
I  was  not  bidden  to  sell  it.  It  is  a  token  of 
gratitude,  a  gift,  as  it  came  to  me. 

JOHN 
As  it  came  to  you  ? 

ALI 

Yes,  it  was  given  me. 
18 


IF 


JOHN 

I  see.  Then  you  had  given  somebody  what 
you  call  rivers  of  gold? 

ALI 

Not  gold ;  it  was  in  Sahara. 

JOHN 

O,  and  what  do  you  give  in  the  Sahara 
instead  of  gold  ? 

ALI 

Water. 

JOHN 
I  see.    You  got  it  for  a  glass  of  water,  like. 

ALI 

Even  so. 

JOHN 

And — and  what  happened  ? 

MARY 

I  wouldn't  take  his  only  crystal,  dear. 
It's  a  nice  little  thing,  but  [to  ALI],  but  you 
think  a  lot  of  it,  don't  you? 

ALI 
Even  so. 

JOHN 

But  look  here,  what  does  it  do? 
19 


IF 

ALI 

Much. 

JOHN 
Well,  what? 

ALI 

He  that  taketh  this  crystal,  so,  in  his  hand, 
at  night,  and  wishes,  saying  "At  a  certain 
hour  let  it  be";  the  hour  comes  and  he  will 
go  back  eight,  ten,  even  twelve  years  if  he 
will,  into  the  past,  and  do  a  thing  again,  or 
act  otherwise  than  he  did.  The  day  passes; 
the  ten  years  are  accomplished  once  again ;  he 
is  here  once  more;  but  he  is  what  he  might 
have  become  had  he  done  that  one  thing 
otherwise. 

MARY 
John! 

JOHN 
I — I  don't  understand. 

ALI 

To-night  you  wish.  All  to-morrow  you 
live  the  last  ten  years;  a  new  way,  master,  a 
new  way,  how  you  please.  To-morrow  night 
you  are  here,  what  those  years  have  made  you. 

JOHN 
By  Jove ! 

20 


IF 

MARY 

Have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  John. 

JOHN 

All  right,  Mary,  I'm  not  going  to.  But, 
do  you  mean  one  could  go  back  ten  years  ? 

ALI 

Even  so. 

JOHN 

Well,  it  seems  odd,  but  I'll  take  your  word 
for  it.  But  look  here,  you  can't  live,  ten  years 
in  a  day,  you  know. 

ALI 

My  master  has  power  over  time. 

MARY 
John,  don't  have  anything  to  do  with  him. 

JOHN 
All  right,  Mary.    But  who  is  your  master? 

ALI 

He  is  carved  of  one  piece  of  jade,  a  god  in 
the  greenest  mountains.  The  years  are  his 
dreams.  This  crystal  is  his  treasure.  Guard 
it  safely,  for  his  power  is  in  this  more  than 
in  all  the  peaks  of  his  native  hills.  See  what 
I  give  you,  master. 

21 


IF 

JOHN 

Well,  really,  it's  very  good  of  you. 

MARY 

Good  night,  Mr.  AH.  We  are  very  much 
obliged  for  your  kind  offer,  which  we  are  so 
sorry  we  can't  avail  ourselves  of. 

JOHN 

One  moment,  Mary.  Do  you  mean  that 
I  can  go  back  ten  years,  and  live  till — till  now 
again,  and  only  be  away  a  day? 

ALI 

Start  early,  and  you  will  be  here  before 
midnight. 

JOHN 
Would  eight  o'clock  do ! 

ALI 
You  could  be  back  by  eleven  that  evening. 

JOHN 

I  don't  quite  see  how  ten  years  could  go 
in  a  single  day. 

ALI 

They  will  go  as  dreams  go. 

JOHN 

Even  so,  it  seems  rather  unusual,  doesn't 
it? 

22 


IF 

ALI 
Time  is  the  slave  of  my  master. 

MARY 
John! 

JOHN 

All  right,  Mary.  [In  a  lower  voice.]  I'm 
only  trying  to  see  what  he'll  say. 

MARY 
All  right,  John,  only   .    .    . 

ALI 

Is  there  no  step  that  you  would  wish  un- 
trodden, nor  stride  that  you  would  make 
where  once  you  faltered  ? 

JOHN 
I  say,  why  don't  you  use  it  yourself? 

ALI 

I?  I  am  afraid  of  the  past.  But  you 
Engleesh,  and  the  great  firm  of  Briggs,  Cater, 
and  Beal ;  you  are  afraid  of  nothing. 

JOHN 

Ha,  ha.  Well — I  wouldn't  go  quite  as  far 
as  that,  but — well,  give  me  the  crystal. 

MARY 

Don't  take  it,  John !     Don't  take  it. 
23 


IF 

JOHN 

Why,  Mary?     It  won't  hurt  me. 

MARY 
If  it  can  do  all  that — if  it  can  do  all  that 

JOHN 
Well? 

MARY 
Why,  you  might  never  have  met  me. 

JOHN 

Never  have  met  you?  I  never  thought  of 
that. 

MARY 
Leave  the  past  alone,  John. 

JOHN 

All  right,  Mary.  I  needn't  use  it.  But  I 
want  to  hear  about  it,  it's  so  odd,  it's  so 
what-you-might-call  queer;  I  don't  think  I 

ever [To  ALL]     You  mean  if  I  work 

hard  for  ten  years,  which  will  only  be  all 
to-morrow,  I  may  be  Governor  of  the  Bank 
of  England  to-morrow  night. 

ALI 

Even  so. 

MARY 

O,  don't  do  it,  John. 
24 


IF 

JOHN 

But  you  said — I'll  be  back  here  before 
midnight  to-morrow. 

ALI 

It  is  so. 

JOHN 

But  the  Governor  of  the  Bank  of  England 
would  live  in  the  City,  and  he'd  have  a  much 
bigger  house  anyway.  He  wouldn't  live  in 
Lewisham. 

ALI 

The  crystal  will  bring  you  to  this  house 
when  the  hour  is  accomplished,  even  to- 
morrow night.  If  you  be  the  great  banker, 
you  will  perhaps  come  to  chastise  one  of  your 
slaves  who  will  dwell  in  this  house.  If  you 
be  head  of  Briggs  and  Cater  you  will  come  to 
give  an  edict  to  one  of  your  firm.  Perchance 
this  street  will  be  yours  and  you  will  come  to 
show  your  power  unto  it.  But  you  will  come. 

JOHN 

And  if  the  house  is  not  mine? 

MARY 
John!    John!     Don't. 

ALI 
Still  you  will  come. 

25 


IF 

JOHN 
Shall  I  remember? 

ALI 

No. 

JOHN 

If  I  want  to  do  anything  different  to  what 
I  did,  how  shall  I  remember  when  I  get  back 
there? 

MARY 
Don '  t .     Don ' t  do  anything  different ,  John . 

JOHN 
All  right. 

ALI 

Choose  just  before  the  hour  of  the  step 
you  desire  to  change.  Memory  lingers  a  little 
at  first,  and  fades  away  slowly. 

JOHN 
Five  minutes? 

ALI 
Even  ten. 

JOHN 

Then  I  can  change  one  thing.  After  that  I 
forget. 

ALI 

Even  so.    One  thing.    And  the  rest  follows. 
26 


IF 


JOHN 

Well,  it's  very  good  of  you  to  make  me  this 
nice  present,  I'm  sure. 

ALI 

Sell  it  not.  Give  it,  as  I  gave  it,  if  the  heart 
impels.  So  shall  it  come  back  one  day  to  the 
hills  that  are  brighter  than  grass,  made  richer 
by  the  gratitude  of  many  men.  And  my 
master  shall  smile  thereat  and  the  vale  shall 
be  glad. 

JOHN 
It's  very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure. 

MARY 

I  don't  like  it,  John.  I  don't  like  tampering 
with  what's  gone. 

ALI 

My  master's  power  is  in  your  hands. 
Farewell. 

[Exit] 

JOHN 
I  say,  he's  gone. 

MARY 
O,  he's  a  dreadful  man. 

JOHN 

I  never  really  meant  to  take  it. 
27 


IF 


MARY 
O,  John,  I  wish  you  hadn't 

JOHN 
Why?     I'm  not  going  to  use  it. 

MARY 
Not  going  to  use  it,  John? 

JOHN 
No,  no.    Not  if  you  don't  want  me  to. 

MARY 
O,  I'm  so  glad. 

JOHN 

And  besides,  I  don't  want  things  different. 
I've  got  fond  of  this  little  house.  And  Briggs 
is  a  good  old  sort,  you  know.  Cater's  a  bit 
of  an  ass,  but  there's  no  harm  in  him.  In 
fact,  I'm  contented,  Mary.  I  wouldn't  even 
change  Aunt  Martha  now. 

[Points  at  frowning  framed  photograph 
centrally  hung.] 

You  remember  when  she  first  came  and 
you  said  "Where  shall  we  hang  her?"  I  said 
the  cellar.  You  said  we  couldn't.  So  she  had 
to  go  there.  But  I  wouldn't  change  her  now. 
I  suppose  there  are  old  watch-dogs  like  her  in 
every  family.  I  wouldn't  change  anything. 

MARY 

O,  John,  wouldn't  you  really? 
28 


IF 


JOHN 

No,  I'm  contented.  Grim  old  soul,  I 
wouldn't  even  change  Aunt  Martha. 

MARY 

I'm  glad  of  that,  John.  I  was  frightened. 
I  couldn't  bear  to  tamper  with  the  past. 
You  don't  know  what  it  is,  it's  what's  gone. 
But  if  it  really  isn't  gone  at  all,  if  it  can  be  dug 
up  like  that,  why  you  don't  know  what 
mightn't  happen!  I  don't  mind  the  future, 
but  if  the  past  can  come  back  like  that.  .  .  . 
O,  don't,  don't,  John.  Don't  think  of  it. 
It  isn't  canny.  There's  the  children,  John. 

JOHN 

Yes,  yes,  that's  all  right.  It's  only  a  little 
ornament.  I  won't  use  it.  And  I  tell  you 
I'm  content.  [Happily]  It's  no  use  to  me. 

MARY 

I'm  so  glad  you're  content,  John.  Are  you 
really  ?  Is  there  nothing  that  you'd  have  had 
different  ?  I  sometimes  thought  you'd  rather 
that  Jane  had  been  a  boy. 

JOHN 

Not  a  bit  of  it.  Well,  I  may  have  at  the 
time,  but  Arthur's  good  enough  for  me. 

MARY 

I'm  so  glad.  And  there's  nothing  you  ever 
regret  at  all? 

29 


IF 


JOHN 

Nothing.  And  you  ?  Is  there  nothing  you 
regret,  Mary? 

MARY 

Me?  Oh,  no.  I  still  think  that  sofa  would 
have  been  better  green,  but  you  would  have 
it  red. 

JOHN 

Yes,  so  I  would.  No,  there's  nothing  I 
regret. 

MARY 

I  don't  suppose  there's  many  men  can  say 
that. 

JOHN 

No,  I  don't  suppose  they  can.  They're 
not  all  married  to  you.  I  don't  suppose 
many  of  them  can. 

[MARY  smiles.] 

MARY 

I  should  think  that  very  few  could  say 
that  they  regretted  nothing  .  .  .  very  few 
in  the  whole  world. 

JOHN 
Well,  I  won't  say  nothing. 

MARY 

What  is  it  you  regret,  John? 
30 


IF 

JOHN 

Well,  there  is  one  thing. 

MARY 

And  what  is  that? 

JOHN 
One  thing  has  rankled  a  bit. 

MARY 
Yes,  John? 

JOHN 

O,  it's  nothing,  it's  nothing  worth  mention- 
ing. But  it  rankled  for  years. 

MARY 

What  was  it,  John  ? 

JOHN 

O,  it  seems  silly  to  mention  it.  It  was 
nothing. 

MARY 

But  what? 

JOHN 

O,  well,  if  you  want  to  know,  it  was  once 
when  I  missed  a  train.  I  don't  mind  missing 
a  train,  but  it  was  the  way  the  porter  pushed 
me  out  of  the  way.  He  pushed  me  by  the 
face.  I  couldn't  hit  back,  because,  well,  you 


IF 


know  what  lawyers  make  of  it ;  I  might  have 
been  ruined.  So  it  just  rankled.  It  was  years 
ago  before  we  married. 

MARY 

Pushed  you  by  the  face.    Good  gracious ! 
JOHN 

Yes,  I'd  like  to  have  caught  that  train  in 
spite  of  him.  I  sometimes  think  of  it  still. 
Silly  of  me,  isn't  it  ? 

MARY 

What  a  brute  of  a  man. 
JOHN 

O,  I  suppose  he  was  doing  his  silly  duty. 
But  it  rankled. 

MARY 

He'd  no  right  to  do  any  such  thing !  He'd 
no  right  to  touch  you ! 

JOHN 
O,  well,  never  mind. 

MARY 

I  should  like  to  have  been  there.  .  .  . 
I'd  have  .  .  . 

JOHN 

O,  well,  it  can't  be  helped  now;  but  I'd 
like  to  have  caught  it  in  sp  .  .  . 

[An  idea  seizes  him.] 
32 


IF 

MARY 


What  is  it? 


JOHN 

Can't  be  helped,  I  said.  It's  the  very  thing 
that  can  be  helped. 

MARY 

Can  be  helped,  John?  Whatever  do  you 
mean? 

JOHN 

I  mean  he'd  no  right  to  stop  me  catching 
that  train.  I've  got  the  crystal,  and  I'll 
catch  it  yet ! 

MARY 

O,  John,  that's  what  vou  said  you  wouldn't 
do. 

JOHN 

No.  I  said  I'd  do  nothing  to  alter  the  past. 
And  I  won't.  I'm  too  content,  Mary.  But 
this  can't  alter  it.  This  is  nothing. 

MARY 

What  were  you  going  to  catch  the  train 
for,  John? 

JOHN 

For  London.  I  wasn't  at  the  office  then. 
It  was  a  business  appointment.  There  was  a 

3  33 


IF 


man  who  had  promised  to  get  me  a  job,  and 
I  was  going  up  to  .    .    . 

MARY 
John,  it  may  alter  your  whole  life ! 

JOHN 

Now  do  listen,  Mary,  do  listen.  He  never 
turned  up.  I  got  a  letter  from  him  apologis- 
ing to  me  before  I  posted  mine  to  him.  It 
turned  out  he  never  meant  to  help  me,  mere 
meaningless  affabilities.  He  never  came  to 
London  that  day  at  all.  I  should  have  taken 
the  next  train  back.  That  can't  affect  the 
future. 

MARY 
N-no,  John.    Still,  I  don't  like  it. 

JOHN 

What  difference  could  it  make? 

MARY 
N-n-no. 

JOHN 

Think  how  we  met.  We  met  at  Archie's 
wedding.  I  take  it  one  has  to  go  to  one's 
brother's  wedding.  It  would  take  a  pretty 
big  change  to  alter  that.  And  you  were  her 
bridesmaid.  We  were  bound  to  meet.  And 
having  once  met,  well,  there  you  are.  If  we'd 
met  by  chance,  in  a  train,  or  anything  like 

34 


IF 


that,  well,  then  I  admit  some  little  change 
might  alter  it.  But  when  we  met  at  Archie's 
wedding  and  you  were  her  bridesmaid,  why, 
Mary,  it's  a  cert.  Besides,  I  believe  in  pre- 
destination. It  was  our  fate;  we  couldn't 
have  missed  it. 

MARY 

No,  I  suppose  not;  still  .    .    . 

JOHN 
Well,  what? 

MARY 
I  don't  like  it. 

JOHN 

O,  Mary,  I  have  so  longed  to  catch  that 
infernal  train.  Just  think  of  it,  annoyed  on 
and  off  for  ten  years  by  the  eight-fifteen. 

MARY 

I'd  rather  you  didn't,  John. 

JOHN 
But  why? 

MARY 

O,  John,  suppose  there's  a  railway  acci- 
dent? You  might  be  killed,  and  we  should 
never  meet. 

JOHN 
There  wasn't. 

35 


IF 


MARY 

There  wasn't,  John?     What  do  you  mean? 
JOHN 

There  wasn't  an  accident  to  the  eight-fif- 
teen. It  got  safely  to  London  just  ten  years  ago. 

MARY 

Why,  nor  there  was. 
JOHN 

You  see  how  groundless  your  fears  are. 
I  shall  catch  that  train,  and  all  the  rest  will 
happen  the  same  as  before.  Just  think, 
Mary,  all  those  old  days  again.  I  wish  I 
could  take  you  with  me.  But  you  soon  will 
be.  But  just  think  of  the  old  days  coming 
back  again.  Hampton  Court  again  and  Kew, 
and  Richmond  Park  again  with  all  the  May. 
And  that  bun  you  bought,  and  the  corked 
ginger-beer,  and  those  birds  singing  and  the 
'bus  past  Isleworth.  O,  Mary,  you  wouldn't 
grudge  me  that  ? 

MARY 

Well,  well  then  all  right,  John. 
JOHN 

And  you  will  remember  there  wasn't  an 
accident,  won't  you? 

MARY  [resignedly,  sadly] 

O,  yes,  John.  And  you  won't  try  to  get 
rich  or  do  anything  silly,  will  you? 

36 


IF 


JOHN 

No,  Mary.  I  only  want  to  catch  that 
train.  I'm  content  with  the  rest.  The  same 
things  must  happen,  and  they  must  lead  me 
the  same  way,  to  you,  Mary.  Good  night, 
now,  dear. 

MARY 
Good  night? 

JOHN 

I  shall  stay  here  on  the  sofa  holding  the 
crystal  and  thinking.  Then  I'll  have  a  bis- 
cuit and  start  at  seven. 

MARY 
Thinking,  John?    What  about? 

JOHN 

Getting  it  clear  in  my  mind  what  I  want 
to  do.  That  one  thing  and  the  rest  the  same. 
There  must  be  no  mistakes. 

MARY  [sadly] 
Good  night,  John. 

JOHN 
Have  supper  ready  at  eleven. 

MARY 

Very  well,  John. 
[Exit.] 

37 


IF 

JOHN  [on  the  sofa,  after  a  moment  or  two] 
I'll  catch  that  infernal  train  in  spite  of  him. 

[He  takes  the  crystal  and  doses  it  up  in 
the  palm  of  his  left  hand.] 

I  wish  to  go  back  ten  years,  two  weeks  and 
a  day,  at,  at — 8.10  a.m.  to-morrow;  8.10  a.m. 
to-morrow,  8.10. 

[Re-enter  MARY  in  doorway.] 

MARY 

John!  John!  You  are  sure  he  did  get 
his  fifty  pounds  ? 

JOHN 

Yes.  Didn't  he  come  to  thank  me  for  the 
money? 

MARY 
You  are  sure  it  wasn't  ten  shillings? 

JOHN 
Well,  Cater  paid  him,  I  didn't. 

MARY 

Are  you  sure  that  Cater  didn't  give  him 
ten  shillings? 

JOHN 

It's  the  sort  of  silly  thing  Cater  would  have 
done! 

38 


IF 

MARY 

O,  John! 

JOHN 

Hmm. 

Curtain 

SCENE  3 

Scene:    As  in  Act  I,  Scene  i. 
Time.     Ten  years  ago. 

BERT 
'Ow  goes  it,  Bill? 

BILL 
Goes  it?     'Ow  d'yer  think  it  goes? 

BERT 
I  don't  know,  Bill.    'Ow  is  it? 

BILL 
Bloody. 

BERT 

Why,  what's  wrong? 

BILL 
Wrong?     Nothing  ain't  wrong. 

BERT 
What's  up,  then? 

39 


IF 

BILL 

Nothing  ain't  right. 

BERT 

Why,  wot's  the  worry? 

BILL 

Wot's  the  worry?  They  don't  give  you 
better  wages  nor  a  dog,  and  then  they  thinks 
they  can  talk  at  yer  and  talk  at  yer,  and  say 
wot  they  likes,  like. 

BERT 
Why?     You  been  on  the  carpet,  Bill? 

BILL 
Ain't  I !     Proper. 

BERT 

Why?    Wot  about,  Bill? 

BILL 

Wot  about?  I'll  tell  yer.  Just  coz  I  let 
a  lidy  get  into  a  train.  That's  wot  about. 
Said  I  ought  to  'av  stopped  'er.  Thought  the 
train  was  moving.  Thought  it  was  danger- 
ous. Thought  I  tried  to  murder  'er,  I  suppose. 

BERT 
Wot?    The  other  day? 

BILL 
Yes. 

40 


IF 

BERT 

Tuesday  ? 

BILL 
Yes. 

BERT 

Why  ?    The  one  that  dropped  her  bag  ? 

BILL 

Yes.  Drops  'er  bag.  Writes  to  the  com- 
pany. They  writes  back  she  shouldn't  'av 
got  in.  She  writes  back  she  should.  Then 
they  gets  on  to  me.  Any  more  of  it  and  I'll 

BERT 
I  wouldn't,  Bill;  don't  you. 

BILL 
I  will. 

BERT 

Don't  you,  Bill.  You've  got  your  family 
to  consider. 

BILL 

Well,  anyway,  I  won't  let  any  more  of 
them  passengers  go  jumping  into  trains  any 
more,  not  when  they're  moving,  I  won't. 
When  the  train  gets  in,  doors  shut.  That's 
the  rule,  and  they'll  have  to  abide  by  it. 

[Enter  JOHN  BEAL.] 


IF 

BILL  [touching  his  hat] 
Good  morning,  sir. 

[JOHN  does  not  answer,  but  walks  to  the 
door  between  them.] 

Carry  your  bag,  sir? 

JOHN 
Go  to  hell! 

[Exit  through  door] 

BILL 
Ullo. 

BERT 
Somebody's  been  getting  at  'im. 

BILL 

Well,  I  never  did.    Why,  I  knows  the  young 
feller. 

BERT 

Pleasant  spoken,  ain't  'e,  as  a  rule? 

BILL 

Never  knew  'im  like  this. 

BERT 

You  ain't  bin  sayin'  nothing  to  'im,  'ave 
yer? 

BILL 
Never  in  my  life. 

42 


IF 
BERT 


Well,  I  never. 


BILL 
'Ad  some  trouble  o'  some  kind. 

BERT 

Must  'ave. 

[Train  is  heard.} 

BILL 
Ah,  'ere  she  is.    Well,  as  I  was  saying  .    .    . 

Curtain 

SCENE  4 

In  a  second-class  railway  carriage. 

Time:  Same  morning  as  Scene  i,  Act  I. 

Noise,  and  a  scene  drawn  past  the 
windows.  The  scene,  showing  a  momen 
tary  glimpse  of  fair  English  hills,  is  al- 
most entirely  placards,  "GIVE  HER 
BOVRIL,"  "GIVE  HER  OXO,"  alter- 
nately, for  ever. 

Occupants,  JOHN  BEAL,  a  girl,  a  man. 

All  sit  in  stoical  silence  like  the  two 
images  near  Luxor.  The  man  has  the 
window  seat,  and  therefore  the  right  of 
control  over  the  window. 

43 


IF 

MIRALDA  CLEMENT 
Would  you  mind  having  the  window  open? 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  CORNER  [shrugging  his 
shoulders  in  a  shivery  way] 

Er — certainly.    [Meaning  he  does  not  mind. 
He  opens  the  window.} 

MIRALDA  CLEMENT 
Thank  you  so  much. 

MAN  IN  THE  CORNER 

Not  at  all.     [He  does  not  mean  to  contradict 
her.    Stoical  silence  again.] 

MIRALDA  CLEMENT 

Would  you  mind  having  it  shut  now?     I 
think  it  is  rather  cold. 

MAN  IN  THE  CORNER 
Certainly. 

[He  shuts  it.    Silence  again.] 

MIRALDA  CLEMENT 

I  think  I'd  like  the  window  open  again  now 
for  a  bit.    It  is  rather  stuffy,  isn't  it? 

MAN  IN  THE  CORNER 
Well,  I  think  it's  very  cold. 
44 


IF 


MIRALDA  CLEMENT 

O,  do  you  ?     But  would  you  mind  opening 
it  for  me  ? 

MAN  IN  THE  CORNER 

Fd  much  rather  it  was  shut,  if  you  don't 
mind. 

[She  sighs,  moves  her  hands  slightly,  and 
her  pretty  face  expresses  the  resignation  of 
the  Christian  martyr  in  the  presence  of 
lions.  This  for  the  benefit  of  John.] 

JOHN 
Allow  me,  madam. 

[He  leans  across  the  window's  rightful 
owner,  a  bigger  man  than  he,  and  opens  his 
window. 

MAN  IN  THE  CORNER  shrugs  his  shoul- 
ders and,  quite  sensibly,  turns  to  his  paper.] 

MIRALDA 
O,  thank  you  so  much. 

JOHN 

Don't  mention  it. 
[Silence  again.] 

VOICES  OF  PORTERS  [off] 
Fan  Kar,  Fan  Kar. 

[MAN  IN  THE  CORNER  gets  out.] 
45 


IF 

MlRALDA 

Could  you  tell  me  where  this  is? 

JOHN 
Yes.     Elephant  and  Castle. 

MlRALDA 

Thank  you  so  much.  It  was  kind  of  you  to 
protect  me  from  that  horrid  man.  He  wanted 
to  suffocate  me. 

JOHN 

O,  very  glad  to  assist  you,  I'm  sure.  Very 
glad. 

MlRALDA 

I  should  have  been  afraid  to  have  done  it  in 
spite  of  him.  It  was  splendid  of  you. 

JOHN 
O,  that  was  nothing. 

MlRALDA 

O,  it  was,  really. 

JOHN 
Only  too  glad  to  help  you  in  any  little  way. 

MlRALDA 

It  was  so  kind  of  you. 
46 


IF 

JOHN 
O,  not  at  all. 

[Silence  for  a  bit.] 

MlRALDA 

I've  nobody  to  help  me. 

JOHN 
Er,  er,  haven't  you  really? 

MlRALDA 

No,  nobody. 

JOHN 

I'd  be  very  glad  to  help  you  in  any  little 
way. 

MlRALDA 

I  wonder  if  you  could  advise  me. 

JOHN 
I — I'd  do  my  best. 

MlRALDA 

You  see,  I  have  nobody  to  advise  me. 

JOHN 

No,  of  course  not. 

MlRALDA 

I  live  with  my  aunt,  and  she  doesn't  under- 
stand.   I've  no  father  or  mother. 

47 


IF 

JOHN 


O,  er,  er,  really? 


MIRALDA 

No.  And  an  uncle  died  and  he  left  me  a 
hundred  thousand  pounds. 

JOHN 

Really? 

MIRALDA 

Yes.  He  didn't  like  me.  I  think  he  did  it 
out  of  contrariness  as  much  as  anything. 
He  was  always  like  that  to  me. 

JOHN 
Was  he?    Was  he  really? 

MIRALDA 

Yes.  It  was  invested  at  twenty-five  per 
cent.  He  never  liked  me.  Thought  I  was 
too — I  don't  know  what. 

JOHN 
No. 

MIRALDA 

That  was  five  years  ago,  and  I've  never  got 
a  penny  of  it. 

JOHN 

Really.    But,  but  that's  not  right. 
48 


IF 

MIRALDA  [sadly] 
No. 

JOHN 

Where's  it  invested? 

MIRALDA 
In  Al  Shaldomir. 

JOHN 

Where's  that  ? 

MIRALDA 

I  don't  quite  know.  I  never  was  good  at 
geography.  I  never  quite  knew  where  Persia 
ends. 

JOHN 
And  what  kind  of  an  investment  was  it  ? 

MIRALDA 

There's  a  pass  in  some  mountains  that  they 
can  get  camels  over,  and  a  huge  toll  is  levied 
on  everything  that  goes  by ;  that  is  the  custom 
of  the  tribe  that  lives  there,  and  I  believe 
the  toll  is  regularly  collected. 

JOHN 

And  who  gets  it  ? 

MIRALDA 

The  chief  of  the  tribe.     He  is  called  Ben 
Hussein.     But  my  uncle  lent  him  all  this 
4  49 


IF 


money,  and  the  toll  on  the  camels  was  what 
they  call  the  security.  They  always  carry 
gold  and  turquoise,  you  know. 

JOHN 
Do  they? 

MlRALDA 

Yes,  they  get  it  from  the  rivers. 

JOHN 
I  see. 

MIRALDA 

It  does  seem  a  shame  his  not  paying, 
doesn't  it? 

JOHN 

A  shame  ?  I  should  think  it  is.  An  awful 
shame.  Why,  it's  a  crying  shame.  He  ought 
to  go  to  prison. 

MIRALDA 

Yes,  he  ought.  But  you  see  it's  so  hard 
to  find  him.  It  isn't  as  if  it  was  this  side  of 
Persia.  It's  being  on  the  other  side  that  is 
such  a  pity.  If  only  it  was  in  a  country  like, 
like  .  .  . 

JOHN 

I'd  soon  find  him.  I'd  .  .  .  Why,  a  man 
like  that  deserves  anything. 

50 


IF 

MlRALDA 

It  is  good  of  you  to  say  that. 

JOHN 

Why,  I'd  .  .  .  And  you  say  you  never 
got  a  penny? 

MlRALDA 

No. 

JOHN 

Well,  that  is  a  shame.  I  call  that  a  down- 
right shame. 

MlRALDA 

Now,  what  ought  I  to  do? 

JOHN 

Do?  Well,  now,  you  know  in  business 
there's  nothing  like  being  on  the  spot.  When 
you're  on  the  spot  you  can — but  then,  of 
course,  it's  so  far. 

MlRALDA 

It  is,  isn't  it  ? 

JOHN 

Still,  I  think  you  should  go  if  you  could. 
If  only  I  could  offer  to  help  you  in  any  way, 
I  would  gladly,  but  of  course  .  .  . 

MlRALDA 

What  would  you  do  ? 


IF 

JOHN 

I'd  go  and  find  that  Hussein  fellow;  and 
then  .  .  . 

MlRALDA 

Yes? 

JOHN 

Why,  I'd  tell  him  a  bit  about  the  law,  and 
make  him  see  that  you  didn't  keep  all  that 
money  that  belonged  to  someone  else. 

MlRALDA 

Would  you  really? 

JOHN 
Nothing  would  please  me  better. 

MlRALDA 

Would  you  really?  Would  you  go  all  that 
way? 

JOHN 

It's  just  the  sort  of  thing  that  I  should  like, 
apart  from  the  crying  shame.  The  man 
ought  to  be  .  .  . 

MlRALDA 

We're  getting  into  Holborn.  Would  you 
come  and  lunch  somewhere  with  me  and  talk 
it  over? 

52 


IF 


JOHN 

Gladly.  I'd  be  glad  to  help.  I've  got  to 
see  a  man  on  business  first.  I've  come  up  to 
see  him.  And  then  after  that,  after  that, 
there  was  something  I  wanted  to  do  after  that. 
I  can't  think  what  it  was.  But  something  I 
wanted  to  do  after  that.  O,  heavens,  what 
was  it  ? 

[Pause.] 

MlRALDA 

Can't  you  think? 

JOHN 

No.  O,  well,  it  can't  have  been  so  very 
important.  And  yet  .  .  .  Well,  where  shall 
we  lunch  ? 

MlRALDA 

Gratzenheim's. 

JOHN 
Right.    What  time? 

MlRALDA 

One-thirty.    Would  that  suit  ? 

JOHN 

Perfectly.  I'd  like  to  get  a  man  like  Hus- 
sein in  prison.  I'd  like  .  .  .  O,  I  beg  your 
pardon. 

[I^e  hurries  to  open  the  door.     Exit 

MlRALDA.] 

53 


IF 


Now  what  was  it  I  wanted  to  do  after- 
wards? 

[Throws  hand  to  forehead.} 
O,  never  mind. 

Curtain 


54 


ACT  II 
SCENE 

JOHN'S  tent  in  Al  Shaldomir.  There 
are  two  heaps  of  idols,  left  and  right,  lying 
upon  the  ground  inside  the  tent.  DAOUD 
carries  another  idol  in  his  arms.  JOHN 
looks  at  its  face. 

Six  months  have  elapsed  since  the  scene 
in  the  second-class  railway  carriage. 

JOHN  BEAL 

This  god  is  holy. 

[He  points  to  the  left  heap.  DAOUD 
carries  it  there  and  lays  it  on  the  heap.] 

DAOUD 

Yes,  great  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 

You  are  in  no  wise  to  call  me  great  master. 
Have  not  I  said  so?  I  am  not  your  master. 
I  am  helping  you  people.  I  know  better  than 
you  what  you  ought  to  do,  because  I  am  Eng- 
lish. But  that's  all.  I'm  not  your  master. 
See? 

55 


IF 

DAOUD 

Yes,  great  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 
O,  go  and  get  some  more  idols.    Hurry. 

DAOUD 

Great  master,  I  go. 
[Exit.] 

JOHN  BEAL 
I  can't  make  these  people  out. 

DAOUD  [returning] 
I  have  three  gods. 

JOHN  BEAL  [looking  at  their  faces,  pointing  to 
the  two  smaller  idols  first] 

These  two  are  holy.    This  one  is  unholy. 

DAOUD 
Yes,  great  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Put  them  on  the  heap. 

[DAOUD  does  so,  two  left,  one  right.] 

Get  some  more. 

[DAOUD  salaams.    Exit.} 
56 


IF 


[Looking  at  right  heap.}  What  a — what  a 
filthy  people. 

[Enter  DAOUD  with  two  idols.] 

JOHN  BEAL  [after  scrutiny] 
This  god  is  holy,  this  is  unholy. 

[Enter  ARCHIE  BEAL,  wearing  a  "Bow- 
ler" hat.] 

Why,  Archie,  this  is  splendid  of  you! 
You've  come!  Why,  that's  splendid!  All 
that  way ! 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Yes,  I've  come.    Whatever  are  you  doing? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Archie,  it's  grand  of  you  to  come !  I  never 
ought  to  have  asked  it  of  you,  only  .  .  . 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

O,  that's  all  right.  But  what  in  the  world 
are  you  doing  ? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Archie,  it's  splendid  of  you. 
ARCHIE  BEAL 

O,  cut  it.  That's  all  right.  But  what's  all 
this? 

JOHN  BEAL 

O,  this.  Well,  well  they're  the  very  oddest 
people  here.  It's  a  long  story.  But  I  wanted 

57 


IF 


to  tell  you  first  how  enormously  grateful  I 
am  to  you  for  coming. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

O,  that's  all  right.  But  I  want  to  know 
what  you're  doing  with  all  these  genuine 
antiques. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  Archie,  the  fact  of  it  is  they're  a  real 
odd  lot  of  people  here.  I've  learnt  their  lan- 
guage, more  or  less,  but  I  don't  think  I  quite 
understand  them  yet.  A  lot  of  them  are 
Mahommedans;  they  worship  Mahommed, 
you  know.  He's  dead.  But  a  lot  of  them 
worship  these  things,  and  .  .  . 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Well,  what  have  you  got  'em  all  in  here 
for? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Yes,  that's  just  it.  I  hate  interfering  with 
them,  but,  well,  I  simply  had  to.  You  see 
there's  two  sorts  of  idols  here;  they  offer 
fruit  and  rats  to  some  of  them ;  they  lay  them 
on  their  hands  or  their  laps. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Why  do  they  offer  them  rats? 
JOHN  BEAL 

O,  I  don't  know.  They  don't  know  either. 
It's  the  right  thing  to  do  out  here,  it's  been 

58 


IF 


the  right  thing  for  hundreds  of  years ;  nobody 
exactly  knows  why.  It's  like  the  bows  we 
have  on  evening  shoes,  or  anything  else. 
But  it's  all  right. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Well,  what  are  you  putting  them  in  heaps 
for? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Because  there's  the  other  kind,  the  ones 
with  wide  mouths  and  rust  round  them. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Rust?  Yes,  so  there  is.  What  do  they 
do? 

JOHN  BEAL 

They  offer  blood  to  them,  Archie.  They 
pour  it  down  their  throats.  Sometimes  they 
kill  people,  sometimes  they  only  bleed  them. 
It  depends  how  much  blood  the  idol  wants. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

How  much  blood  it  wants?  Good  Lord! 
How  do  they  know? 

JOHN  BEAL 

The  priests  tell  them.  Sometimes  they 
fill  them  up  to  their  necks — they're  all  hollow, 
you  know.  In  spring  it's  awful. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Why  are  they  worse  in  spring? 
59 


IP 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  don't  know.  The  priests  ask  for  more 
blood  then.  Much  more.  They  say  it  always 
was  so. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

And  you're  stopping  it? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Yes,  I'm  stopping  these.  One  must.  I'm 
letting  them  worship  those.  Of  course,  it's 
idolatry  and  all  that  kind  of  thing,  but  I 
don't  like  interfering  short  of  actual  murder. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
And  they're  obeying  you  ? 

JOHN  BEAL 
'M,  y-yes.     I  think  so. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
You  must  have  got  a  great  hold  over  them. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  I  don't  know  about  that.  It's  the 
pass  that  counts. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
The  pass  ? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Yes,  that  place  you  came  over.  It's  the 
only  way  anyone  can  get  here. 

60 


IF 


ARCHIE  BEAL 

Yes,  I  suppose  it  is.  But  how  does  the  pass 
affect  these  idols? 

JOHN  BEAL 

It  affects  everything  here.  If  that  pass 
were  closed  no  living  man  would  ever  enter 
or  leave,  or  even  hear  of,  this  country.  It's 
absolutely  cut  off  except  for  that  one  pass. 
Why,  Archie,  it  isn't  even  on  the  map. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Yes,  I  know. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  whoever  owns  that  pass  is  everybody. 
No  one  else  counts. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
And  who  does  own  it  ? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  it's  actually  owned  by  a  fellow  called 
Hussein,  but  Miss  Clement's  uncle,  a  man 
called  Hinnard,  a  kind  of  lonely  explorer, 
seems  to  have  come  this  way;  and  I  think  he 
understood  what  this  pass  is  worth.  Any- 
how, he  lent  Hussein  a  big  sum  of  money  and 
got  an  acknowledgment  from  Hussein.  Old 
Hinnard  must  have  been  a  wonderfully 
shrewd  man.  For  that  acknowledgment  is 
no  more  legal  than  an  I.O.U.,  and  Hussein 
is  simply  a  brigand. 

61 


IF 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Not  very  good  security. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  you're  wrong  there.  Hussein  himself 
respects  that  piece  of  parchment  he  signed. 
There's  the  name  of  some  god  or  other  written 
on  it  that  Hussein  is  frightened  of.  Now  you 
see  how  things  are.  That  pass  is  as  holy  as 
all  the  gods  that  there  are  in  Al  Shaldomir. 
Hussein  possesses  it.  But  he  owes  an  enor- 
mous sum  to  Miss  Miralda Clement,  and  I  am 
here  as  her  agent;  and  you've  come  to  help 
me  like  a  great  sportsman. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

O,  never  mind  that.  Well,  it  all  seems 
pretty  simple. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  I  don't  know,  Archie.  Hussein 
admits  the  debt,  but  .  .  . 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
But  what? 

JOHN  BEAL 
I  don't  know  what  he'll  do. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Wants  watching,  does  he? 
62 


IF 


JOHN  BEAL 

Yes.  And  meanwhile  I  feel  sort  of  re- 
sponsible for  all  these  silly  people.  Some- 
body's got  to  look  after  them.  Daoud ! 

DAOUD  [off] 
Great  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Bring  in  some  more  gods. 

DAOUD 
Yes,  great  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  can't  get  them  to  stop  calling  me  absurd 
titles.  They're  so  infernally  Oriental. 

[Enter  DAOUD.] 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
He's  got  two  big  ones  this  time. 

JOHN  BEAL  [to  ARCHIE] 

You  see,  there  is  rust  about  their  mouths. 
[To  DAOUD]  :  They  are  both  unholy. 

[He  points  to  R.   heap,   and  DAOUD 
puts  them  there.    To  DAOUD.] 
Bring  in  some  more. 

DAOUD 

Great  master,  there  are  no  more  gods  in 
Al  Shaldomir. 

63 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 
It  is  well. 

DAOUD 

What  orders,  great  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Listen.  At  night  you  shall  come  and  take 
these  gods  away.  These  shall  be  worshipped 
again  in  their  own  place,  these  you  shall  cast 
into  the  great  river  and  tell  no  man  where  you 
cast  them. 

DAOUD 

Yes,  great  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 
You  will  do  this,  Daoud? 

DAOUD 

Even  so,  great  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  am  sorry  to  make  you  do  it.  You  are 
sad  that  you  have  to  do  it.  Yet  it  must  be 
done. 

DAOUD 
Yes,  I  am  sad,  great  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 

But  why  are  you  sad,  Daoud? 
64 


IF 


DAOUD 

Great  master,  in  times  you  do  not  know 
these  gods  were  holy.  In  times  you  have  not 
guessed.  In  old  centuries,  master,  perhaps 
before  the  pass.  Men  have  prayed  to  them, 
sorrowed  before  them,  given  offerings  to 
them.  The  light  of  old  hearths  has  shone  on 
them,  flames  from  old  battles.  The  shadow 
of  the  mountains  has  fallen  on  them,  so 
many  times,  master,  so  many  times.  Dawn 
and  sunset  have  shone  on  them,  master,  like 
firelight  flickering;  dawn  and  sunset,  dawn 
and  sunset,  flicker,  flicker,  flicker  for  century 
after  century.  They  have  sat  there  watching 
the  dawns  like  old  men  by  the  fire.  They  are 
so  old,  master,  so  old.  And  some  day  dawn 
and  sunset  will  die  away  and  shine  on  the 
world  no  more,  and  they  would  have  still 
sat  on  in  the  cold.  And  now  they  go.  .  .  . 
They  are  our  history,  master,  they  are  our  old 
times.  Though  they  be  bad  times  they  are 
our  times,  master;  and  now  they  go.  I  am 
sad,  master,  when  the  old  gods  go. 

JOHN  BEAL 
But  they  are  bad  gods,  Daoud. 

DAOUD 
I  am  sad  when  the  bad  gods  go. 

JOHN  BEAL 

They  must  go,  Daoud.  See,  there  is  no 
one  watching.  Take  them  now. 

5  65 


IF 

DAOUD 

Even  so,  great  master. 

[He  takes  up  the  largest  of  the  gods  with 
rust.] 

Come,  Aho-oomlah,  thou  shalt  not  drink 
Nideesh. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Was  Nideesh  to  have  been  sacrificed? 

DAOUD 
He  was  to  have  been  drunk  by  Aho-oomlah. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Nideesh.    Who  is  he? 

DAOUD 
He  is  my  son. 

[Exit  with  Aho-oomlah. 
JOHN  BEAL  almost  gasps.] 

ARCHIE  BEAL  [who  has  been  looking  round  the 
tent] 

What  has  he  been  saying? 

JOHN  BEAL 

They're — they're    a    strange    people.      I 
can't  make  them  out. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Is  that  the  heap  that  oughtn't  to  be  wor- 
shipped ? 

66 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 
Yes. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Well,  do  you  know,  I'm  going  to  chuck  this 
hat  there.  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  somehow 
to  be  any  more  right  here  than  those  idols 
would  be  at  home.  Odd  isn't  it  ?  Here  goes. 

[He  throws  hat  on  right  heap  of  idols. 
JOHN  BEAL  does  not  smile.] 

Why,  what's  the  matter? 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  don't  like  to  see  a  decent  Christian  hat 
among  these  filthy  idols.  They've  all  got 
rust  on  their  mouths.  I  don't  like  to  see  it, 
Archie;  it's  sort  of  like  what  they  call  an 
omen.  I  don't  like  it. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Do  they  keep  malaria  here? 

JOHN  BEAL 
I  don't  think  so.    Why? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Then  what's  the  matter,  Johnny?  Your 
nerves  are  bad. 

JOHN  BEAL 

You  don't  know  these  people,  and  I've 
brought  you  out  here.  I  feel  kind  of  respon- 

67 


IF 


sible.  If  Hussein's  lot  turn  nasty  you  don't 
know  what  he'd  do,  with  all  those  idols  and 
all. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

He'll  give  'em  a  drink,  you  mean. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Don't,  Archie.  There's  no  saying.  And  I 
feel  responsible  for  you. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Well,  they  can  have  my  hat.  It  looks 
silly,  somehow.  I  don't  know  why.  What 
are  we  going  to  do? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  now  that  you've  come  we  can  go 
ahead. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Righto.    What  at? 

JOHN  BEAL 

We've  got  to  see  Hussein's  accounts,  and 
get  everything  clear  in  black  and  white,  and 
see  just  what  he  owes  to  Miss  Miralda 
Clement. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
But  they  don't  keep  accounts  here. 

JOHN  BEAL 
How  do  you  know? 
68 


IF 

ARCHIE  DEAL 

Why,  of  course  they  don't.    One  can  see 
that. 

JOHN  BEAL 
But  they  must. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Well,  you  haven't  changed  a  bit  for  your 
six  months  here. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Haven't  changed? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

No.     Just   quietly  thinking   of  business. 
You'll  be  a  great  business  man,  Johnny. 

JOHN  BEAL 

But  we  must  do  business;  that's  what  I 
came  here  for. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
You'll  never  make  these  people  do  it. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Well,  what  do  you  suggest  ? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Let's  have  a  look  at  old  Hussein. 
69 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 

Yes,  that's  what  I  have  been  waiting  for. 
Daoud ! 

DAOUD  [off] 
Master.     [Enters.] 

JOHN  BEAL 

Go  to  the  palace  of  the  Lord  of  the  Pass 
and  beat  on  the  outer  door.  Say  that  I  de- 
sire to  see  him.  Pray  him  to  come  to  my 
tent. 

[DAOUD  bows  and  I&it.] 

[To  ARCHIE.]  I've  sent  him  to  the  palace 
to  ask  Hussein  to  come. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Lives  in  a  palace,  does  he? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Yes,  it's  a  palace,  it's  a  wonderful  place. 
It's  bigger  than  the  Mansion  House,  much. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

And  you're  going  to  teach  him  to  keep 
accounts. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  I  must.  I  hate  doing  it.  It  seems 
almost  like  being  rude  to  the  Lord  Mayor. 
But  there's  two  things  I  can't  stand — cheat- 

•'      70 


IF 


ing  in  business  is  one  and  murder's  another. 
I've  got  to  interfere.  You  see,  if  one  happens 
to  know  the  right  from  wrong  as  we  do,  we've 
simply  got  to  tell  people  who  don't.  But 
it  isn't  pleasant.  I  almost  wish  I'd  never 
come. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Why,  it's  the  greatest  sport  in  the  world. 
It's  splendid. 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  don't  see  it  that  way.  To  me  those  idols 
are  just  horrid  murder.  And  this  man  owes 
money  to  this  girl  with  no  one  to  look  after 
her,  and  he's  got  to  pay.  But  I  hate  being 
rude  to  a  man  in  a  place  like  the  Mansion 
House,  even  if  he  is  black.  Why,  good  Lord, 
who  am  I  ?  It  seems  such  cheek. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

I  say,  Johnny,  tell  me  about  the  lady.  Is 
she  pretty? 

JOHN  BEAL 
What,  Miss  Miralda?    Yes. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
But  what  I  mean  is — what's  she  like? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Oh,  I  don't  know.  It's  very  hard  to  say. 
She's,  she's  tall  and  she's  fair  and  she's  got 
blue  eyes. 


ARCHIE  BEAL 

Yes,  but  I  mean  what  kind  of  a  person  is 
she  ?  How  does  she  strike  you  ? 

JOHN  SEAL 

Well,  she's  pretty  hard  up  until  she  gets 
this  money,  and  she  hasn't  got  any  job  that's 
any  good,  and  no  real  prospects  bar  this, 
and  nobody  particular  by  birth,  and  doesn't 
know  anybody  who  is,  and  lives  in  the  least 
fashionable  suburb  and  can  only  just  afford 
a  second-class  fare  and  .  .  . 

ARCHIE  SEAL 
Yes,  yes,  go  on. 

JOHN  BEAL 

And  yet  somehow  she  sort  of  seems  like  a — 
like  a  queen. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Lord  above  us !   And  what  kind  of  a  queen  ? 

JOHN  BEAL 

O,  I  don't  know.  Well,  look  here,  Archie, 
it's  only  my  impression.  I  don't  know  her 
well  yet.  It's  only  my  impression.  I  only 
tell  you  in  absolute  confidence.  You  won't 
pass  it  on  to  anybody,  of  course. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
O,  no.    Go  on. 

72 


IF 


JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  I  don't  know,  only  she  seemed  more 
like — well,  a  kind  of  autocrat,  you  know, 
who'd  stop  at  nothing.  Well,  no,  I  don't 
mean  that,  only  .  .  . 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
So  you're  not  going  to  marry  her? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Marry  her !  Good  Lord,  no.  Why,  you'd 
never  dare  ask  her.  She's  not  that  sort.  I 
tell  you  she's  a  sort  of  queen.  And  (Good 
Lord !)  she'd  be  a  queen  if  it  wasn't  for  Hus- 
sein, or  something  very  like  one.  We  can't 
go  marrying  queens.  Anyhow,  not  one  like 
her. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Why  not  one  like  her? 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  tell  you — she's  a — well,  a  kind  of  goddess. 
You  couldn't  ask  her  if  she  loved  you.  It 
would  be  such,  such  .  .  . 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Such  what  ? 

JOHN  BEAL 
Such  infernal  cheek. 
73 


IF 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

I  see.  Well,  I  see  you  aren't  in  love  with 
her.  But  it  seems  to  me  you'll  be  seeing  a 
good  deal  of  her  some  day  if  we  pull  this  off. 
And  then,  my  boy-o,  you'll  be  going  and 
getting  in  love  with  her. 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  tell  you  I  daren't.  I'd  as  soon  propose  to 
the  Queen  of  Sheba. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Well,  Johnny,  I'm  going  to  protect  you 
from  her  all  I  can. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Protect  me  from  her?    Why? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Why,  because  there's  lots  of  other  girls, 
and  it  seems  to  me  you  might  be  happier  with 
some  of  them. 

JOHN  BEAL 
But  you  haven't  even  seen  her. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Nor  I  have.  Still,  if  I'm  here  to  protect 
you  I  somehow  think  I  will.  And  if  I'm  not 


74 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  and  what  then? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

What  nonsense  I'm  talking.     Fate  does 
everything.     I  can't  protect  you. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Yes,  it's  nonsense  all  right,  Archie,  but .  .  . 

HUSSEIN  [off] 
I  am  here. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Be  seen. 

[HUSSEIN  enters.  He  is  not  unlike 
Bluebeard.] 

JOHN  BEAL  [pointing  to  ARCHIE] 
My  brother. 

[ARCHIE  shakes  hands  with  HUSSEIN. 
HUSSEIN  looks  at  his  hand  when  it  is 
over  in  a  puzzled  way.  JOHN  BEAL  and 
HUSSEIN  then  bow  to  each  other.] 

HUSSEIN 

You  desired  my  presence. 

JOHN  BEAL 
I  am  honoured. 

75 


IF 

HUSSEIN 
And  I. 

JOHN  BEAL 

The  white  traveller,  whom  we  call  Hinnard, 
lent  you  one  thousand  greater  gold  pieces, 
which  in  our  money  is  one  hundred  thousand 
pounds,  as  you  acknowledge.  [HUSSEIN 
nods  his  head.]  And  every  year  you  were  to 
pay  him  for  this  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  your 
greater  gold  pieces — as  you  acknowledge  also. 

HUSSEIN 
Even  so. 

JOHN  BEAL 

And  this  you  have  not  yet  had  chance  to 
pay,  but  owe  it  still. 

HUSSEIN 
I  do. 

JOHN  BEAL 
And  now  Hinnard  is  dead. 

HUSSEIN    • 
Peace  be  with  him. 

JOHN  BEAL 

His  heiress  is  Miss  Miralda  Clement,  who 
instructs  me  to  be  her  agent.  What  have  you 
to  say? 

76 


IF 

HUSSEIN 

Peace  be  with  Hinnard. 

JOHN  BEAL 

You  acknowledge  your  debt  to  this  lady, 
Miss  Miralda  Clement? 

HUSSEIN 
I  know  her  not. 

JOHN  BEAL 
You  will  not  pay  your  debt  ? 

HUSSEIN 
I  will  pay. 

JOHN  BEAL 

If  you  bring  the  gold  to  my  tent,   my 
brother  will  take  it  to  Miss  Clement. 

HUSSEIN 
I  do  not  pay  to  Miss  Clement. 

JOHN  BEAL 
To  whom  do  you  pay? 

HUSSEIN 
I  pay  to  Hinnard. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Hinnard  is  dead. 

77 


IF 

HUSSEIN 
I  pay  to  Hinnard. 

JOHN  BEAL 
How  will  you  pay  to  Hinnard? 

HUSSEIN 
If  he  be  buried  in  the  sea  .    .    . 

JOHN  BEAL 
He  is  not  buried  at  sea. 

HUSSEIN 

If  he  be  buried  by  any  river  I  go  to  the  god 
of  rivers. 

JOHN  BEAL 
He  is  buried  on  land  near  no  river. 

HUSSEIN 

Therefore  I  will  go  to  a  bronze  god  of 
earth,  very  holy,  having  the  soil  in  his  care, 
and  the  things  of  earth.  I  will  take  unto  him 
the  greater  pieces  of  gold  due  up  to  the  year 
when  the  white  traveller  died,  and  will  melt 
them  in  fire  at  his  feet  by  night  on  the  moun- 
tains, saying,  "O,  Lruru-onn  (this  is  his 
name)  take  this  by  the  way  of  earth  to  the 
grave  of  Hinnard."  And  so  I  shall  be  free 
of  my  debt  before  all  gods.. 

78 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 

But  not  before  me.  I  am  English.  And 
we  are  greater  than  gods. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
What's  that,  Johnny? 

JOHN  BEAL 

He  won't  pay,  but  I  told  him  we're  English 
and  that  they're  greater  than  all  his  bronze 
gods. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
That's  right,  Johnny. 

[HUSSEIN  looks  fiercely  at  ARCHIE. 
He  sees  ARCHIE'S  hat  lying  before  a  big 
idol.  He  points  at  the  hat  and  looks  in 
the  face  of  the  idol.] 

HUSSEIN  [to  the  idol] 
Drink!     Drink! 

[He  bows.    Exit.] 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

What's  that  he's  saying? 

JOHN  BEAL  [meditatively] 
O,  nothing — nothing. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
He  won't  pay,  eh? 

79 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 

No,  not  to  Miss  Miralda. 

ARCHIE  SEAL 
Who  to? 

JOHN  BEAL 
To  one  of  his  gods. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
That  won't  do. 

JOHN  BEAL 
No. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
What '11  we  do  ?_ 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  don't  quite  know.  It  isn't  as  if  we  were  in 
England. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

No,  it  isn't. 

JOHN  BEAL 
If  we  were  in  England   .    .    . 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

I  know;  if  we  were  in  England  you  could 
call  a  policeman.  I  tell  you  what  it  is, 
Johnny. 

80 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 
Yes? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

I  tell  you  what;  you  want  to  see  more  of 
Miss  Clement. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Why? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Why,  because  at  the  present  moment  our 
friend  Hussein  is  a  craftier  fellow  than  you, 
and  looks  like  getting  the  best  of  it. 

JOHN  BEAL 

How  will  seeing  more  of  Miss  Miralda  help 
us? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Why,  because  you  want  to  be  a  bit  craftier 
than  Hussein,  and  I  fancy  she  might  make 
you. 

JOHN  BEAL 
She?    How? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

We're  mostly  made  what  we  are  by  some 
woman  or  other.  We  think  it's  our  own 
cleverness,  but  we're  wrong.  As  things  are 
you're  no  match  for  Hussein,  but  if  you 
altered  .  .  . 

6  81 


IP 

JOHN  BEAL 

Why,  Archie;  where  did  you  get  all  those 
ideas  from  ? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
O,  I  don't  know. 

JOHN  BEAL 
You  never  used  to  talk  like  that. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
O,  well. 

JOHN  BEAL 

You  haven't  been  getting  in  love,  Archie, 
have  you? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
What  are  we  to  do  about  Hussein  ? 

JOHN  BEAL 

It's  funny  your  mentioning  Miss  Miralda. 
I  got  a  letter  from  her  the  same  day  I  got 
yours. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

What  does  she  say? 

JOHN  BEAL 
I  couldn't  make  it  out. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

What  were  her  words? 
82 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 

She  said  she  was  going  into  it  closer.  She 
underlined  closer.  What  could  she  mean  by 
that?  How  could  she  get  closer? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Well,  the  same  way  as  I  did. 

JOHN  BEAL 
How  do  you  mean?     I  don't  understand. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
By  coming  here. 

JOHN  BEAL 
By  coming  here  ?    But  she  can't  come  here. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Why  not? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Because  it's  impossible.  Absolutely  im- 
possible. Why — good  Lord — she  couldn't 
come  here.  Why,  she'd  want  a  chaperon  and 
a  house  and — and — everything.  Good  Lord, 
she  couldn't  come  here.  It  would  be — well, 
it  would  be  impossible — it  couldn't  be  done. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

O,  all  right.  Then  I  don't  know  what  she 
meant. 

83 


IF 


JOHN  BEAL 

Archie !  You  don't  really  think  she'd  come 
here  ?  You  don't  really  think  it,  do  you  ? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Well,  it's  the  sort  of  thing  that  that  sort  of 
girl  might  do,  but  of  course  I  can't  say  .  .  . 

JOHN  BEAL 
Good  Lord,  Archie !    That  would  be  awful. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
But  why? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Why?  But  what  would  I  do?  Where 
would  she  go?  Where  would  her  chaperon 
go?  The  chaperon  would  be  some  elderly 
lady.  Why,  it  would  kill  her. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Well,  if  it  did  you've  never  met  her,  so  you 
needn't  go  into  mourning  for  an  elderly  lady 
that  you  don't  know;  not  yet,  anyway. 

JOHN  BEAL 

No,  of  course  not.  You're  laughing  at  me, 
Archie.  But  for  the  moment  I  took  you 
seriously.  Of  course,  she  won't  come.  '  One 
can  go  into  a  thing  closely  without  doing  it 
absolutely  literally.  But,  good  Lord,  wouldn't 
it  be  an  awful  situation  if  she  did. 

84 


IF 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
O,  I  don't  know. 

JOHN  BEAL 

All  alone  with  me  here?  No,  impossible. 
And  the  country  isn't  civilised. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Women  aren't  civilised. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Women  aren't  .  .  .  ?  Good  Lord,  Archie, 
what  an  awful  remark.  What  do  you  mean? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

We're  tame,  they're  wild.  We  like  all  the 
dull  things  and  the  quiet  things,  they  like 
all  the  romantic  things  and  the  dangerous 
things. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Why,  Archie,  it's  just  the  other  way  about. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

O,  yes;  we  do  all  the  romantic  things,  and 
all  the  dangerous  things.  But  why? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Why?  Because  we  like  them,  I  suppose. 
I  can't  think  of  any  other  reason. 

85 


IF 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
I  hate  danger.    Don't  you? 

JOHN  BEAL 
Er — well,  yes,  I  suppose  I  do,  really. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Of  course  you  do.  We  all  do.  It's  the 
women  that  put  us  up  to  it.  She's  putting 
you  up  to  this.  And  the  more  she  puts  you 
up  to  the  more  likely  is  Hussein  to  get  it  in  his 
fat  neck. 

JOHN  BEAL 

But — but  you  don't  mean  you'd  hurt 
Hussein?  Not — not  badly,  I  mean. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

We're  under  her  orders,  Johnny.  See  what 
she  says. 

JOHN  BEAL 

You,  you  don't  really  think  she'll  come 
here? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Of  course  I  do,  and  the  best  thing  too. 
It's  her  show;  she  ought  to  come. 

JOHN  BEAL 

But,  but  you  don't  understand.  She's 
just  a  young  girl.  A  girl  like  Miss  Miralda 

86 


IF 


couldn't  come  out  here  over  the  pass  and 
down  these  mountains,  she'd  never  stand  it, 
and  as  for  the  chaperon  .  .  .  You've 
never  met  Miss  Miralda. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

No,  Johnny.  But  the  girl  that  was  able  to 
get  you  to  go  from  Bromley  to  this  place  can 
look  after  herself. 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  don't  see  what  that's  got  to  do  with  it. 
She  was  in  trouble  and  I  had  to  help  her, 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Yes,  and  she'll  be  in  trouble  all  the  way 
here  from  Blackheath,  and  everyone  will  have 
to  help  her. 

JOHN  BEAL 

What  beats  me  is  how  you  can  have  the 
very  faintest  inkling  of  what  she's  like  with- 
out ever  having  seen  her  and  without  my 
having  spoken  of  her  to  you  for  more  than  a 
minute. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Well,  Johnny,  you're  not  a  romantic  bird, 
you're  not  a  traveller  by  nature,  barring  your 
one  trip  to  Eastbourne,  and  it  was  I  that  took 
you  there.  And  contrariwise,  as  they  say  in 
a  book  you've  never  read,  you're  a  level- 

8? 


IF 


headed  business  man  and  a  hardworking 
respectable  stay-at-home.  You  meet  a  girl 
in  a  train,  and  the  next  time  I  see  you  you're 
in  a  place  that  isn't  marked  on  the  map  and 
telling  it  what  gods  it  ought  to  worship  and 
what  gods  it  ought  to  have  agnosticism  about. 
Well,  I  say  some  girl. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  I  must  say  you  make  the  most  extra- 
ordinary deductions,  but  it  was  awfully  good 
of  you  to  come,  and  I  ought  to  be  grateful ; 
and  I  am,  too,  I'm  awfully  grateful;  and  I 
ought  to  let  you  talk  all  the  rot  you  like.  Go 
ahead.  You  shall  say  what  you  like  and  do 
what  you  like.  It  isn't  many  brothers  that 
would  do  what  you've  done. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

O,  that's  nothing.  I  like  this  country. 
I'm  glad  I  came.  And  if  I  can  help  you  with 
Hussein,  why  all  the  better. 

JOHN  BEAL 

It's  an  awful  country,  Archie,  but  we've 
got  to  see  this  through. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Does  she  know  all  about  Hussein?     • 

JOHN  BEAL 

Yes,  everything.    I've  written  fully. 
88 


IF 

OMAR  [of] 

Al  Shaldomir,  Al  Shaldomir, 

The  nightingales  that  guard  thy  ways  .  .  . 

JOHN  BEAL  [shouting] 

O,  go  away,  go  away.  [To  ARCHIE.]  I  said 
it  was  an  awful  country.  They  sit  down  out- 
side one's  tent  and  do  that  kind  of  thing  for 
no  earthly  reason. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
O,  I'd  let  them  sing. 

JOHN  BEAL 

O,  you  can't  have  people  doing  that  kind  of 
thing. 

OMAR  [in  doorway] 
Master,  I  go. 

JOHN  BEAL 
But  why  do  you  come  ? 

OMAR 
I  came  to  sing  a  joyous  song  to  you,  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Why  did  you  want  to  sing  me  a  joyous 
song? 

OMAR 

Because  a  lady  is  riding  out  of  the  West. 
[Exit.] 

89 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 
A  lady  out  of  ...   Good  Lord ! 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
She's  coming,  Johnny. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Coming?  Good  Lord,  no,  Archie.  He  said 
a  lady ;  there'd  be  the  chaperon  too.  There'd 
be  two  of  them  if  it  was  Miss  Miralda.  But 
he  said  a  lady.  One  lady.  It  can't  be  her. 
A  girl  like  that  alone  in  Al  Shaldomir.  Clean 
off  the  map.  Oh,  no,  it  isn't  possible. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
I  wouldn't  worry. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Wouldn't  worry?  But,  good  Lord,  the 
situation's  impossible.  People  would  talk. 
Don't  you  see  what  people  would  say?  And 
where  could  they  go  ?  Who  would  look  after 
them?  Do  try  and  understand  how  awful 
it  is.  But  it  isn't.  It's  impossible.  It  can't 
be  them.  For  heaven's  sake  run  out  and  see 
if  it  is;  and  (good  Lord!)  I  haven't  brushed 
my  hair  all  day,  and,  and — oh,  look  at  me. 

[He    rushes   to    camp    mirror.      Exit 
ARCHIE. 

JOHN  BEAL  tidies  up  desperately. 
Enter  ARCHIE.] 
90 


IF 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

It's  what  you  call  them. 

JOHN  BEAL 

What  I  call  them?  Whatever  do  you 
mean? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Well,  it's  her.    She's  just  like  what  you  said. 

JOHN  BEAL 

But  it  can't  be.  She  doesn't  ride.  She  can 
never  have  been  able  to  afford  a  horse. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

She's  on  a  camel.  She'll  be  here  in  a  mo- 
ment. [He  goes  to  door.]  Hurry  up  with  that 
hair;  she's  dismounted. 

JOHN  BEAL 
O,  Lord!    What's  the  chaperon  like? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
O,  she's  attending  to  that  herself. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Attending  to  it  herself?  What  do  you 
mean? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
I  expect  she'll  attend  to  most  things. 


IF 

[Enter  HAFIZ  EL  ALCOLAHN  in  door- 
way of  tent,  pulling  back  flap  a  little.} 

JOHN  BEAL 
Who  are  you  ? 

HAFIZ 

I  show  the  gracious  lady  to  your  tent. 

[Enter  MIRALDA  CLEMENT,  throwing 
a  smile  to  HAFIZ.] 

MIRALDA 
Hullo,  Mr.  Beal. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Er — er — how  do  you  do? 
[She  looks  at  ARCHIE.] 
O,  this  is  my  brother — Miss  Clement. 

MIRALDA  and  ARCHIE  BEAL 
How  do  you  do  ? 

MIRALDA 
I  like  this  country. 

JOHN  BEAL 
I'm  afraid  I  hardly  expected  you. 

MIRALDA 
Didn't  you? 

92 


IF 


JOHN  BEAL 

No.  You  see — er — it's  such  a  long  way. 
And  wasn't  it  very  expensive? 

MlRALDA 

Well,  the  captain  of  the  ship  was  very  kind 
to  me. 

JOHN  BEAL 
O !     But  what  did  you  do  when  you  landed  ? 

MIRALDA 

O,  there  were  some  Arabs  coming  this  way 
in  a  caravan.  They  were  really  very  good  to 
me  too. 

JOHN  BEAL 

But  the  camel? 

MIRALDA 

O,  there  were  some  people  the  other  side  of 
the  mountains.  Everybody  has  been  very 
kind  about  it.  And  then  there  was  the  man 
who  showed  me  here.  He's  called  Hafiz  el 
Alcolahn.  It's  a  nice  name,  don't  you  think? 

JOHN  BEAL 

But,  you  know,  this  country,  Miss  Cle- 
ment, I'm  half  afraid  it's  hardly — isn't  it, 
Archie?  Er — how  long  did  you  think  of 
staying? 

93 


IF 

MlRALDA 

O,  a  week  or  so. 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  don't  know  what  you'll  think  of  Al  Shal- 
domir.  I'm  afraid  you'll  find  it  ... 

MlRALDA 

Oh,  I  like  it.  Just  that  hollow  in  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  one  pass,  and  no  record  of  it 
anywhere.  I  like  that.  I  think  it's  lovely. 

JOHN  BEAL 

You  see,  I'm  afraid — what  I  mean  is  I'm 
afraid  the  place  isn't  even  on  the  map ! 

MlRALDA 

O,  that's  lovely  of  it. 

JOHN  BEAL 
All  decent  places  are. 

MlRALDA 

You  mean  if  a  place  is  on  the  map  we've 
got  to  behave  accordingly.  But  if  not,  why 

JOHN  BEAL 
Hussein  won't  pay. 

MlRALDA 

Let's  see  Hussein. 

94 


IF 


JOHN  BEAL 

I'm  afraid  he's  rather,  he's  rather  a  savage- 
looking  brigand. 

MlRALDA 

Never  mind. 

[ARCHIE  is  quietly  listening  and  smiling 
sometimes. 

Enter  DAOUD.  He  goes  up  to  the  un- 
holy heap  and  takes  away  two  large  idols, 
one  under  each  arm.  Exit.} 

What's  that,  Mr.  Beal? 

JOHN  BEAL 

0,  that.  I'm  afraid  it's  rather  horrible. 
I  told  you  it  was  an  awful  country.  They 
pray  to  these  idols  here,  and  some  are  all 
right,  though  of  course  it's  terribly  blasphe- 
mous, but  that  heap,  well,  I'm  afraid,  well 
that  heap  is  very  bad  indeed. 

MlRALDA 

What  do  the}'-  do? 

JOHN  BEAL 
They  kill  people. 

MlRALDA 

Do  they?    How? 

95 


IF 


JOHN  BEAL 

I'm  afraid  they  pour  their  blood  down  those 
horrible  throats. 

MlRALDA 

Do  they?    How  do  you  know? 

JOHN  BEAL 

I've  seen  them  do  it,  and  those  mouths 
are  all  rusty.  But  it's  all  right  now.  It 
won't  happen  any  more. 

MlRALDA 

Won't  it?    Why  not? 

JOHN  BEAL 
Well,  I    .    .    . 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

He's  stopped  them,  Miss  Clement.  They're 
all  going  to  be  thrown  into  the  river. 

MlRALDA 

Have  you  ? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  yes.  I  had  to.  So  it's  all  right  now. 
They  won't  do  it  any  more. 

MlRALDA 

H'm. 

96 


IF 


JOHN  BEAL 

What,  what  is  it?  I  promise  you  that's  all 
right.  They  won't  do  that  any  more. 

MlRALDA 

H'm.  I've  never  known  anyone  that  tried 
to  govern  a  country  or  anything  of  that  sort, 
but  .  .  ." 

JOHN  BEAL 

Of  course,  I'm  just  doing  what  I  can  to  put 
them  right.  ...  I'd  be  very  glad  of  your 
advice.  ...  Of  course,  I'm  only  here  in 
your  name. 

MlRALDA 

What  I  mean  is  that  I'd  always  thought 
that  the  one  thing  you  shouldn't  do,  if  you 
don't  mind  my  saying  so. 

JOHN  BEAL 

No,  certainly. 

MlRALDA 

.  .  .  Was  to  interfere  in  people's  re- 
ligious beliefs. 

JOHN  BEAL 

But,  but  I  don't  think  you  quite  under- 
stand. The  priests  knife  these  people  in  the 
throat,  boys  and  girls,  and  then  acolytes 
lift  them  up  and  the  blood  runs  down.  I've 
seen  them. 

97 


IF 


MlRALDA 

I  think  it's  best  to  leave  religion  to  the 

priests.    They  understand  that  kind  of  thing. 

[JOHN  BEAL  opens  his  mouth  in  horror 

and  looks  at  ARCHIE.     ARCHIE  returns 

the  glance;  there  is  very  nearly  a  twinkle  in 

ARCHIE'S  eyes.} 

MIRALDA 
Let's  see  Hussein. 

JOHN  BEAL 
What  do  you  think,  Archie? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Poor  fellow.    We'd  better  send  for  him. 

MIRALDA 
Why  do  you  say  "poor  fellow"? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Oh,  because  he's  so  much  in  debt.  It's 
awful  to  be  in  debt.  I'd  sooner  almost  any- 
thing happened  to  me  than  to  owe  a  lot  of 
money. 

MIRALDA 

Your  remark  didn't  sound  very  compli- 
mentary. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

O,  I  only  meant  that  I'd  hate  to  be  in  debt. 
98 


IF 


And  I  should  hate  owing  money  to  you, 
because  .    .    . 

MlRALDA 

Why? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Because  I  should  so  awfully  want  to  pay  it. 

MIRALDA 
I  see. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
That's  all  I  meant. 

MIRALDA 
Does  Hussein  awfully  want  to  pay  it  ? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Well,  no.  But  he  hasn't  seen  you  yet.  He 
will  then,  of  course. 

[Enter  DAOUD.     He  goes  to  the  unholy 
heap.} 

JOHN  BEAL 

Daoud,  for  the  present  these  gods  must 
stay.  Aho-oomlah's  gone,  but  the  rest  must 
stay  for  the  present. 

DAOUD 
Even  so,  great  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Daoud,  go  once  more  to  the  palace  of  the 
Lord  of  the  Pass  and  beat  the  outer  door. 

99 


IF 


Say  that  the  great  lady  herself  would  see  him. 
The  great  lady,  Miss  Clement,  the  white 
traveller's  heiress. 

DAOUD 
Yes,  master. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Hasten. 

[Exit  DAOUD.] 
I  have  sent  him  for  Hussein. 

MlRALDA 

I  don't  know  their  language. 

JOHN  BEAL 

You  will  see  him,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  he 
says. 

MIRALDA  [to  ARCHIE] 
Have  you  been  here  long? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

No.  I  think  he  wrote  to  me  by  the  same 
mail  as  he  wrote  to  you  (if  they  have  mails 
here).  I  came  at  once. 

MIRALDA 

So  did  I ;  but  you  weren't  on  the  Empress 
of  Switzerland. 

100 


IF 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
No,  I  came  round  more  by  land. 

JOHN  BEAL 

You  know,  I  hardly  like  bringing  Hussein 
in  here  to  see  you.  He's  such  a — he's  rather 
a  ... 

MIRALDA 

What's  the  matter  with  him? 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  he's  rather  of  the  brigand  type,  and 
one  doesn't  know  what  he'll  do. 

MIRALDA 

Well,  we  must  see  him  first  and  hear  what 
he  has  to  say  before  we  take  any  steps. 

JOHN  BEAL 
But  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ? 

MIRALDA 

Why,  if  he  pays  me  everything  he  owes,  or 
gives  up  the  security  .  .  . 

JOHN  BEAL 

The  security  is  the  pass. 

MIRALDA 

Yes.    If  he  gives  up  that  or  pays  .    .    . 
101 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 

You  know  he's  practically  king  of  the 
whole  country.  It  seems  rather  cheek  almost 
my  sending  for  him  like  this. 

MlRALDA 

He  must  come. 

JOHN  BEAL 
But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

MlRALDA 

If  he  gives  up  the  pass  .    .    . 

JOHN  BEAL 

Why,  if  he  gives  up  the  pass  you'd  be — 
you'd  be  a  kind  of  queen  of  it  all. 

MlRALDA 

Well,  if  he  does  that,  all  right.   .    .    . 

JOHN  BEAL 
But  what  if  he  doesn't? 

MlRALDA 

Why,  if  he  doesn't  pay  .    .    . 

HUSSEIN  [off] 
I  am  here. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Be  seen. 

[Enter  HUSSEIN.] 
1 02 


IF 

HUSSEIN 

Greeting  once  more. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Again  greeting.  .  .  .  The  great  lady, 
Miss  Clement,  is  here. 

[HUSSEIN  and  MIRALDA  look  at  each 
other.] 

You  will  pay  to  Miss  Clement  and  not  to 
your  god  of  bronze.  On  the  word  of  an  Eng- 
lishman, your  god  of  bronze  shall  not  have 
one  gold  piece  that  belongs  to  the  great  lady ! 

HUSSEIN  [looking  contemptuous] 

On  the  word  of  the  Lord  of  the  Pass,  I  only 
pay  to  Hinnard. 

[He    stands  smiling    while    MIRALDA 
regards  him.     Exit.] 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Well? 

JOHN  BEAL 
He  won't  pay. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
What  are  we  to  do  now? 

JOHN  BEAL  [to  MIRALDA] 

I'm  afraid  he's  rather  an  ugly  customer  to 
introduce  you  to  like  that.  I 'm  sorry  he  came 
now. 

103 


IF 

MlRALDA 

0,  I  like  him,  I  think  he  looks  splendid. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Well,  what  are  we  to  do  ? 

JOHN  BEAL 
Yes. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
What  do  you  say,  Miss  Clement? 

JOHN  BEAL 
Yes,  what  do  you  feel  we  ought  to  do? 

MIRALDA 

Well,  perhaps  I  ought  to  leave  all  that  to 
you. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
O,  no. 

JOHN  BEAL 

No,  it's  your  money.    What  do  you  think 
we  really  ought  to  do? 

MIRALDA 

Well,  of  course,  I  think  you  ought  to  kill 
Hussein. 

[JOHN  BEAL  and  ARCHIE  BEAL  look 
at  each  other  a  little  startled.] 

104 


IF 


JOHN  BEAL 

But  wouldn't  that — wouldn't  that  be — 
murder  ? 

MIRALDA 
O,  yes,  according  to  the  English  law. 

JOHN  BEAL 

I  see ;  you  mean — you  mean  we're  not — but 
we  are  English. 

MIRALDA 

I  mean  it  wouldn't  be  murder — by  your 
law,  unless  you  made  it  so. 

JOHN  BEAL 

By  my  law  ? 

MIRALDA 

Yes,  if  you  can  interfere  with  their  religion 
like  this,  and  none  of  them  say  a  word,  why — 
you  can  make  any  laws  you  like. 

JOHN  BEAL 

But  Hussein  is  king  here ;  he  is  Lord  of  the 
Pass,  and  that's  everything  here.  I'm  nobody. 

MIRALDA 

O,  if  you  like  to  be  nobody,  of  course  that's 
different. 

105 


IF 


ARCHIE  BEAL 

I  think  she  means  that  if  Hussein  weren't 
there  there'd  be  only  you.  Of  course,  I  don't 
know.  I've  only  just  come. 

JOHN  SEAL 

But  we  can't  kill  Hussein ! 
[MIRALDA  begins  to  cry.] 

O  Lord!  Good  heavens!  Please,  Miss 
Clement !  I'm  awfully  sorry  if  I've  said  any- 
thing you  didn't  like.  I  wouldn't  do  that  for 
worlds.  I'm  awfully  sorry.  It's  a  beastly 
country,  I  know.  I'm  really  sorry  you  came. 
I  feel  it's  all  my  fault.  I'm  really  awfully 
sorry.  .  .  . 

MIRALDA 

Never  mind.  Never  mind.  I  was  so  help- 
less, and  I  asked  you  to  help  me.  I  never 
ought  to  have  done  it.  I  oughtn't  to  have 
spoken  to  you  at  all  in  that  train  without 
being  introduced ;  but  I  was  so  helpless.  And 
now,  and  now,  I  haven't  a  penny  in  the  world, 
and,  O,  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
We'll  do  anything  for  you,  Miss  Clement. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Anything  in  the  wide  world.  Please,  please 
don't  cry.  We'll  do  anything. 

1 06 


IF 


MlRALDA 

I  ...  I  only,  I  only  wanted  to — to  kill 
Hussein.  But  never  mind,  it  doesn't  matter 
now. 

JOHN  BEAL 

We'll  do  it,  Miss  Clement,  won't  we, 
Archie?  Only  don't  cry.  We'll  do  it.  I— I 
suppose  he  deserves  it,  doesn't  he? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Yes,  I  suppose  he  does. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  all  right,  Miss  Clement,  that's  settled. 
My  brother  and  I  will  talk  it  over. 

MIRALDA  [still  sniffing] 

And — and — don't  hang  him  or  anything — 
he  looks  so  fine.  .  .  .  I — I  wouldn't  like 
him  treated  like  that.  He  has  such  a  grand 
beard.  He  ought  to  die  fighting. 

JOHN  BEAL 
We'll  see  what  we  can  do,  Miss  Clement. 

MIRALDA 

It  is  sweet  of  you.  It's  really  sweet.  It's 
sweet  of  both  of  you.  I  don't  know  what  I'd 
have  done  without  you.  I  seemed  to  know 
it  that  day  the  moment  I  saw  you. 

107 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 

O,  it's  nothing,  Miss  Clement,  nothing  at 
all. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

That's  all  right. 

MlRALDA 

Well,  now  I'll  have  to  look  for  an  hotel. 

JOHN  BEAL 

Yes,  that's  the  trouble,  that  really  is  the 
trouble.  That's  what  I've  been  thinking  of 
all  the  time. 

MlRALDA 

Why;  isn't  there  .    .    . 

JOHN  BEAL 

No,  I'm  afraid  there  isn't.  What  are  we  to 
do,  Archie. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

I — I  can't  think.  Perhaps  Miss  Clement 
would  have  a  scheme. 

MIRALDA  [to  JOHN  BEAL] 
I  rely  on  you,  Mr.  Beal. 

JOHN  BEAL 

I — I;  but  what  can  I  ...  You  see, 
you're  all  alone.  If  you'd  anyone  with  you, 
you  could  have  .  .  . 

1 08 


IF 


MlRALDA 

I  did  think  of  bringing  a  rather  nice  aunt. 
But  on  the  whole  I  thought  it  better  not  to 
tell  anyone. 

JOHN  BEAL 
Not  to  tell  .    .    . 

MlRALDA 

No,  on  the  whole  I  didn't. 

JOHN  BEAL 
I  say,  Archie,  what  are  we  to  do  ? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 
Here's  Daoud. 

[Enter  DAOUD.] 

JOHN  BEAL 
The  one  man  I  trust  in  Al  Shaldomir ! 

DAOUD 

I  have  brought  two  watchers  of  the  door- 
step to  guard  the  noble  lady. 

JOHN  BEAL 

He  says  he's  brought  two  watchers  of  the 
doorstep  to  look  after  Miss  Clement. 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Two  chaperons!  Splendid!  She  can  go 
anywhere  now. 

109 


IF 


JOHN  BEAL 

Well,  really,  that  is  better.  Yes  that  will 
be  all  right.  We  can  find  a  room  for  you  now. 
The  trouble  was  your  being  alone.  I  hope 
you'll  like  them.  [To  DAOUD.]  Tell  them 
to  enter  here. 

DAOUD  [beckoning  in  the  doorway] 
Ho!     Enter! 

JOHN  BEAL 
That's  all  right,  Archie,  isn't  it? 

ARCHIE  BEAL 

Yes,  that's  all  right.  A  chaperon's  a 
chaperon,  black  or  white. 

JOHN  BEAL 

You  won't  mind  their  being  black,  will  you, 
Miss  Clement? 

MlRALDA 

No,  I  shan't  mind.  They  can't  be  worse 
than  white  ones. 

[Enter  BAZZALOL  and  THOOTHOOBABA, 
two  enormous  Nubians,  bearing  peacock 
fans  and  wearing  scimitars.  All  stare  at 
them.  They  begin  to  fan  slightly.] 

DAOUD 

The  watchers  of  the  doorstep. 
no 


IF 

JOHN  BEAL 

Idiot,  Daoud!    Fools!    Dolts!    Men  may 
not  guard  a  lady's  door. 

[BAZZALOL  and  THOOTHOOBABA  smile 
ingratiatingly.] 

BAZZALOL  [bowing] 
We  are  not  men. 

Curtain 
Six  and  a  half  years  elapse 


in 


THE  SONG  OF   THE  IRIS  MARSHES 

When  morn  is  bright  on  the  mountains  olden 
Till  dawn  is  lost  in  the  blaze  of  day, 

When  morn  is  bright  and  the  marshes  golden, 
Where  shall  the  lost  lights  fade  away  ? 
And  where,  my  love,  shall  we  dream  to-day? 

Dawn  is  fled  to  the  marshy  hollows 

Where  ghosts  of  stars  in  the  dimness  stray, 

And  the  water  is  streaked  with  the  flash  of 

swallows 

And  all  through  summer  the  iris  sway. 
But  where,  my  love,  shall  we  dream  to-day? 

When  night  is  black  in  the  iris  marshes. 


ACT  III 

SCENE  i 

Six  and  a  half  years  later. 

Al  Shaldomir. 

A  room  in  the  palace. 

MIRALDA  reclines  on  a  heap  of  cushions. 
JOHN  beside  her. 

Bazzalol  and  Thoothoobaba  fan  them. 
OMAR  [declaiming  to  a  zither] 

Al  Shaldomir,  Al  Shaldomir, 

The  nightingales  that  guard  thy  ways 
Cease  not  to  give  thee,  after  God 

And  after  Paradise,  all  praise. 

Thou  art  the  theme  of  all  their  lays. 

Al  Shaldomir,  Al  Shaldomir.  .  .  , 

MIRALDA 
Go  now,  Omar. 

OMAR 

O  lady,  I  depart. 
[Exit] 

"5 


IF 

MIRALDA  [languidly] 
John,  John.    I  wish  you'd  marry  me. 

JOHN 

Miralda,  you're  thinking  of  those  old  cus- 
toms again  that  we  left  behind  us  seven  years 
ago.  What's  the  good  of  it? 

MIRALDA 
I  had  a  fancy  that  I  wished  you  would. 

JOHN 

What's  the  good  of  it?  You  know  you  are 
my  beloved.  There  are  none  of  those  clergy- 
men within  hundreds  of  miles.  What's  the 
good  of  it  ? 

MIRALDA 
We  could  find  one,  John. 

JOHN 
O,  yes,  I  suppose  we  could,  but  .    .    . 

MIRALDA 

Why  won't  you? 

JOHN 
I  told  you  why. 

MIRALDA 

O,  yes,  that  instinct  that  you  must  not 
marry.  That's  not  your  reason,  John. 

116 


IF 

JOHN 
Yes,  it  is. 

MlRALDA 

It's  a  silly  reason.  It's  a  crazy  reason. 
It's  no  reason  at  all.  There's  some  other 
reason. 

JOHN 

No,  there  isn't.  But  I  feel  that  in  my 
bones.  I  don't  know  why.  You  know  that 
I  love  none  else  but  you.  Besides,  we're 
never  going  back,  and  it  doesn't  matter. 
This  isn't  Blackheath. 

MlRALDA 

So  I  must  live  as  your  slave. 

JOHN 

No,  no,  Miralda.  My  dear,  you  are  not  my 
slave.  Did  not  the  singer  compare  our  love 
to  the  desire  of  the  nightingale  for  the  even- 
ing star?  All  know  that  you  are  my  queen. 

MlRALDA 

They  do  not  know  at  home. 

JOHN 

Home?  Home?  How  could  they  know? 
What  have  we  in  common  with  home  ?  Rows 
and  rows  of  little  houses ;  and  if  they  hear  a 

117 


IF 


nightingale  there  they  write  to  the  papers. 
And — and  if  they  saw  this  they'd  think  they 
were  drunk.  Miralda,  don't  be  absurd. 
What  has  set  you  thinking  of  home  ? 

MIRALDA 
I  want  to  be  crowned  queen. 

JOHN 
But  I  am  not  a  king.    I  am  only  Shereef. 

MIRALDA 

You  are  all-powerful  here,  John,  you  can  do 
what  you  please,  if  you  wish  to.  You  don't 
love  me  at  all. 

JOHN 

Miralda,  you  know  I  love  you.  Didn't 
I  kill  Hussein  for  you? 

MIRALDA 
Yes,  but  you  don't  love  me  now. 

JOHN 

And  Hussein's  people  killed  Archie.  That 
was  for  you  too.  I  brought  my  brother  out 
here  to  help  you.  He  was  engaged  to  be 
married,  too. 

MIRALDA 

But  you  don't  love  me  now. 
118 


IF 


JOHN 

Yes,  I  do.  I  love  you  as  the  dawn  loves 
the  iris  marshes.  You  know  the  song  they 
sing. ' 

MlRALDA 

Then  why  won't  you  marry  me? 

JOHN 

I  told  you,  I  told  you.  I  had  a  dream  about 
the  future.  I  forgot  the  dream,  but  I  know 
I  was  not  to  marry.  I  will  not  wrong  the 
future. 

MlRALDA 

Don't  be  crazy. 

JOHN 

I  will  have  what  fancies  I  please,  crazy  or 
sane.  Am  I  not  Shereef  of  Shaldomir?  Who 
dare  stop  me  if  I  would  be  mad  as  Herod  ? 

MlRALDA 

I  will  be  crowned  queen. 

JOHN 
It  is  not  my  wish. 

MlRALDA 

I  will,  I  will,  I  will. 
.  113. 

119 


IF 


JOHN 

Drive  me  not  to  anger.  If  I  have  you  cast 
into  a  well  and  take  twenty  of  the  fairest 
daughters  of  Al  Shaldomir  in  your  place,  who 
can  gainsay  me  ? 

MlRALDA 

I  will  be  crowned  queen. 

JOHN 
O,  do  not  be  tiresome. 

MlRALDA 

Was  it  not  my  money  that  brought  you 
here  ?  Was  it  not  I  who  said  ' '  Kill  Hussein"  ? 
What  power  could  you  have  had,  had  Hus- 
sein lived  ?  What  would  you  have  been  doing 
now,  but  for  me? 

JOHN 
I  don't  know,  Miralda. 

MlRALDA 

Catching  some  silly  train  to  the  City. 
Working  for  some  dull  firm.  Living  in  some 
small  suburban  house.  It  is  I,  /,  that  brought 
you  from  all  that,  and  you  won't  make  me  a 
queen. 

JOHN 

Is  it  not  enough  that  you  are  my  beloved  ? 
You  know  there  is  none  other  but  you.  Is 
it  not  enough,  Miralda? 

I2O 


IF 

MlRALDA 

It  is  not  enough.    I  will  be  queen. 

JOHN 

Tchah!  .  .  .  Miralda,  I  know  you  are  a 
wonderful  woman,  the  most  wonderful  in  the 
East;  how  you  ever  came  to  be  in  the  West 
I  don't  know,  and  a  train  of  all  places;  but, 
Miralda,  you  must  not  have  petty  whims, 
they  don't  become  you. 

MIRALDA 

Is  it  a  petty  whim  to  wish  to  be  a  queen  ? 

JOHN 

Yes,  when  it  is  only  the  name  you  want. 
You  are  a  queen.  You  have  all  you  wish  for. 
Are  you  not  my  beloved?  And  have  I  not 
power  here  over  all  men  ?  Could  I  not  close 
the  pass? 

MIRALDA 
I  want  to  be  queen. 

JOHN 

Oh-h !  I  will  leave  you.  I  have  more  to  do 
than  to  sit  and  hear  your  whims.  When  I 
come  back  you  will  have  some  other  whim. 
Miralda,  you  have  too  many  whims. 

[He  rises.] 


IF 

MlRALDA 

Will  you  be  back  soon? 

JOHN 

No. 

MlRALDA 

When  will  you  come  back,  John? 

[She  is  reclining,  looking  fair,  fanning 
slightly.] 

JOHN 
In  half  an  hour. 

MlRALDA 

In  half  an  hour? 

JOHN 
Yes. 

[Exit.] 

MlRALDA 

Half  an  hour. 

[Her  fan  is  laid  down.  She  clutches 
it  with  sudden  resolve.  She  goes  to  the 
wall,  fanning  herself  slowly.  She  leans 
against  it.  She  fans  herself  now  with 
obvious  deliberation.  Three  times  the 
great  fan  goes  flat  against  the  window,  and 
then  again  separately  three  times;  and 
then  she  puts  it  against  the  window  once 

122 


IF 

with  a  smile  of  ecstasy.  She  has  signalled. 
She  returns  to  the  cushions  and  reclines 
with  beautiful  care,  fanning  herself  softly. 

Enter  the  Vizier,  HAFIZ  EL  ALCOLAHN] 

HAFIZ 

Lady !    You  bade  me  come. 

MlRALDA 

Did  I,  Hafiz? 

HAFIZ 

Lady,  your  fan. 

MlRALDA 

Ah,  I  was  fanning  myself. 

HAFIZ 

Seven  times,  lady. 

MlRALDA 

Ah,  was  it  ?    Well,  now  you're  here  .    .    . 

HAFIZ 

Lady,  O  star  of  these  times.  O  light  over 
lonely  marshes.  [He  kneels  by  her  and  em- 
braces her.}  Is  the  Shereef  gone,  lady? 

MlRALDA 

For  half  an  hour,  Hafiz. 
123 


IF 

HAFIZ 
How  know  you  for  half  an  hour? 

MlRALDA 

He  said  so. 

HAFIZ 

He  said  so?    Then  is  the  time  to  fear,  if  a 
man  say  so. 

MlRALDA 

I  know  him. 

HAFIZ 

In  our  country  who  knows  any  man  so 
much  ?    None. 

MlRALDA 

He'll  be  away  for  half  an  hour. 

HAFIZ  [embracing] 
O,  exquisite  lily  of  unattainable  mountains. 

MlRALDA 

Ah,  Hafiz,  would  you  do  a  little  thing  for 
me? 

HAFIZ 

I   would  do  all  things,   lady,  O  evening 
star. 

124 


IF 

MlRALDA 

Would  you  make  me  a  queen,  Hafiz? 

HAFIZ 

If — if  the  Shereef  were  gathered  ? 

MlRALDA 

Even  so,  Hafiz. 

HAFIZ 

Lady,  I  would  make  you  queen  of  all  that 
lies  west  of  the  passes. 

MlRALDA 

You  would  make  me  queen? 

HAFIZ 

Indeed,   before  all  my  wives,   before  all 
women,  over  all  Shaldomir,  named  the  elect. 

MlRALDA 

O,  well,  Hafiz ;  then  you  may  kiss  me. 

[HAFIZ  does  so  ad  lib] 
Hafiz,  the  Shereef  has  irked  me. 

HAFIZ 

Lady,  O  singing  star,  to  all  men  is  the  hour. 
125 


IF 

MlRALDA 

The  appointed  hour? 

HAFIZ 

Even  the  appointed  hour,  the  last,  leading 
to  darkness. 

MlRALDA 

Is  it  written,  think  you,  that  the  Shereef  's 
hour  is  soon  ? 

HAFIZ 

Lady,  O  dawn's  delight,  let  there  be  a  ban- 
quet. Let  the  great  ones  of  Shaldomir  be 
bidden  there. 

MlRALDA 

There  shall  be  a  banquet,  Hafiz. 

HAFIZ 

Soon,  O  lady.  Let  it  be  soon,  sole  lily  of 
the  garden. 

MlRALDA 

It  shall  be  soon,  Hafiz. 
[More  embraces.] 

And  above  all,  O  lady,  bid  Daoud,  the  son 
of  the  baker. 

MlRALDA 

He  shall  be  bidden,  Hafiz. 
126 


IF 

HAFIZ 
O  lady,  it  is  well. 

MlRALDA 

Go  now,  Hafiz. 

HAFIZ 

Lady,  I  go  [giving  a  bag  of  gold  to  BAZZALOL]. 
Silence.  Silence.  Silence. 

BAZZALOL  [kneeling] 
O,  master! 

HAFIZ 

Let  the  tomb  speak;  let  the  stars  cry  out; 
but  do  you  be  silent. 

BAZZALOL 

Aye,  master. 

HAFIZ  [to  THOOTHOOBABA] 

And  you.  Though  this  one  speak,  yet  be 
silent,  or  dread  the  shadow  of  Hafiz  el  Al- 
colahn. 

[He  drops  a  bag  of  gold.  THOOTHOO- 
BABA goes  down  and  grabs  at  the  gold; 
his  eyes  gloat  over  it.] 

THOOTHOOBABA 
Master,  I  speak  not.     Oh-h-h. 
[Exit  HAFIZ. 

127 


IF 


MIRALDA  arranges  herself  on  the  cush- 
ions. She  looks  idly  at  each  Nubian.  The 
Nubians  put  each  a  finger  over  his  lips  and 
go  on  fanning  with  one  hand.] 

MIRALDA 
A  queen.    I  shall  look  sweet  as  a  queen. 

[Enter  JOHN.  She  rises  to  greet  him 
caressingly. 

Enter  DAOUD.] 
Oh,  you  have  brought  Daoud  with  you. 

JOHN 

Why  not? 

MIRALDA 
You  know  that  I  don't  like  Daoud. 

JOHN 
I  wish  to  speak  with  him. 

[MIRALDA  looks  straight  at  JOHN  and 
moves  away  in  silence.  Exit  L.] 

JOHN 
Daoud. 

DAOUD 

Great  master. 

JOHN 

Daoud,  one  day  in  spring,  in  the  cemetery 
of  those  called  Blessed,  beyond  the  city's 

128 


IF 

gates,  you  swore  to  me  by  the  graves  of  both 
your  parents  .    .    . 

DAOUD 
Great  master,  even  so  I  swore. 

JOHN 
.    .    .   to  be  true  to  me  always. 

DAOUD 
There  is  no  Shereef  but  my  master. 

JOHN 
Daoud,  you  have  kept  your  word. 

DAOUD 
I  have  sought  to,  master. 

JOHN 

You  have  helped  me  often,  Daoud,  warned 
me  and  helped  me  often.  Through  you  I 
knew  those  currents  that  run  through  the 
deeps  of  the  market,  in  silence  and  all  men 
feel  them,  but  a  ruler  never.  You  told  me  of 
them,  and  when  I  knew — then  I  could  look 
after  myself,  Daoud.  They  could  do  nothing 
against  me  then.  Well,  now  I  hold  this 
people.  I  hold  them  at  last,  Daoud,  and  now 
— well,  I  can  rest  a  little. 

DAOUD 

Not  in  the  East,  master. 


IF 

JOHN 
Not  in  the  East,  Daoud? 

DAOUD 

No,  master. 

JOHN 
Why?     What  do  you  mean? 

DAOUD 

In  Western  countries,  master,  whose  tales 
I  have  read,  in  a  wonderful  book  named  the 
"Good  Child's  History  of  England,"  in  the 
West  a  man  hath  power  over  a  land,  and  lo ! 
the  power  is  his  and  descends  to  his  son's  son 
after  him. 

JOHN 
Well,  doesn't  it  in  the  East? 

DAOUD 

Not  if  he  does  not  watch,  master;  in  the 
night  and  the  day,  and  in  the  twilight  be- 
tween the  day  and  the  night,  and  in  the  dawn 
between  the  night  and  the  day. 

JOHN 

I  thought  you  had  pretty  long  dynasties 
in  these  parts,  and  pretty  lazy  ones. 

130 


IF 

DAOUD 

Master,  he  that  was  mightiest  of  those  that 
were  kings  in  Babylon  had  a  secret  door  pre- 
pared in  an  inner  chamber,  which  led  to  a 
little  room,  the  smallest  in  the  palace,  whose 
back  door  opened  secretly  to  the  river,  even 
to  great  Euphrates,  where  a  small  boat  waited 
all  the  days  of  his  reign. 

JOHN 

Did  he  really  now  ?  Well,  he  was  taking  no 
chances.  Did  he  have  to  use  it  ? 

DAOUD 

No,  master.  Such  boats  are  never  used. 
Those  that  watch  like  that  do  not  need  to 
seek  them,  and  the  others,  they  would  never 
be  able  to  reach  the  river  in  time,  even  though 
the  boat  were  there. 

JOHN 

I  shouldn't  like  to  have  to  live  like  that. 
Why,  a  river  runs  by  the  back  of  this  palace. 
I  suppose  palaces  usually  are  on  rivers.  I'm 
glad  I  don't  have  to  keep  a  boat  there. 

DAOUD 

No,  master. 

JOHN 

Well,  what  is  it  you  are  worrying  about? 
Who  is  it  you  are  afraid  of? 


IF 

DAOUD 
Hafiz  el  Alcolahn. 

JOHN 

O,  Hafiz.  I  have  no  fears  of  Hafiz.  Lately 
I  ordered  my  spies  to  watch  him  no  longer. 
Why  does  he  hate  me? 

DAOUD 

Because,  most  excellent  master,  you  slew 
Hussein. 

JOHN 

Slew  Hussein?  What  is  that  to  do  with 
him?  May  I  not  slay  whom  I  please? 

DAOUD 

Even  so,  master.  Even  so.  But  he  was 
Hussein's  enemy. 

JOHN 
His  enemy,  eh? 

DAOUD 

For  years  he  had  dreamed  of  the  joy  of 
killing  Hussein. 

JOHN 

Well,  he  should  have  done  it  before  I  came. 
We  don't  hang  over  things  and  brood  over 

132 


IF 


them  for  years  where  I  come  from.     If  a 
thing's  to  be  done,  it's  done. 

DAOUD 

Even  so,  master.  Hafiz  had  laid  his  plans 
for  years.  He  would  have  killed  him  and  got 
his  substance;  and  then,  when  the  hour  drew 
near,  you  came,  and  Hussein  died,  swiftly, 
not  as  Hafiz  would  have  had  him  die;  and 
lo !  thou  art  the  lord  of  the  pass,  and  Hafiz  is 
no  more  than  a  beetle  that  runs  about  in  the 
dirt. 

JOHN 
Well,  so  you  fear  Hafiz? 

DAOUD 

Not  for  himself,  master.  Nay,  I  fear  not 
Hafiz.  But,  master,  hast  thou  seen  when  the 
thunder  is  coming,  but  no  rumble  is  heard, 
and  the  sky  is  scarce  yet  black,  how  little 
winds  run  in  the  grass  and  sigh  and  die ;  and 
the  flower  beckons  a  moment  with  its  head; 
all  the  world  full  of  whispers,  master,  all  say- 
ing nothing;  then  the  lightning,  master,  and 
the  anger  of  God ;  and  men  say  it  came  with- 
out warning?  [Simply]  I  hear  those  things 
coming,  master. 

JOHN 
Well? 

133 


IF 


DAOUD 

Master,  it  is  all  silent  in  the  market.  Once, 
when  the  price  of  turquoises  was  high,  men 
abused  the  Shereef .  When  the  merchant  men 
could  not  sell  their  pomegranates  for  silver 
they  abused  the  Shereef.  It  is  men's  way, 
master,  men's  way.  Now  it  is  all  silent  in  the 
market.  It  is  like  the  grasses  with  the  little 
winds,  that  whisper  and  sigh  and  die  away; 
like  the  flowers  beckoning  to  nothing.  And 
so,  master,  and  so  ... 

JOHN 
I  see,  you  fear  some  danger. 

DAOUD 
I  fear  it,  master. 

JOHN 
What  danger,  Daoud? 

DAOUD 
Master,  I  know  not. 

JOHN 
From  what  quarter,  Daoud? 

DAOUD 

O  master,  O  sole  Lord  of  Al  Shaldomir, 
named  the  elect,  from  that  quarter. 

134 


IF 


JOHN 

That  quarter?  Why,  that  is  the  gracious 
lady's  innermost  chamber. 

DAOUD 

From  that  quarter,  great  master,  O  Lord 
of  the  Pass. 

JOHN 

Daoud,  I  have  cast  men  into  prison  for 
saying  less  than  this.  Men  have  been  flogged 
on  the  feet  for  less  than  this. 

DAOUD 
Slay  me,  master,  but  hear  my  words. 

JOHN 

I  will  not  slay  you.  You  are  mistaken, 
Daoud.  You  have  made  a  great  mistake. 
The  thing  is  absurd.  Why,  the  gracious  lady 
has  scarcely  seen  Hafiz.  She  knows  nothing 
of  the  talk  of  the  market.  Who  could  tell 
her?  No  one  comes  here.  It  is  absurd.  Only 
the  other  day  she  said  to  me  .  .  But  it 
is  absurd,  it  is  absurd,  Daoud.  Besides,  the 
people  would  never  rebel  against  me.  Do  I 
not  govern  them  well? 

DAOUD 

Even  so,  master. 

135 


IF 

JOHN 

Why  should  they  rebel,  then? 

DAOUD 
They  think  of  the  old  times,  master. 

JOHN 

The  old  times?  Why,  their  lives  weren't 
safe.  The  robbers  came  down  from  the  moun- 
tains and  robbed  the  market  whenever  they 
had  a  mind. 

DAOUD 

Master,  men  were  content  in  the  old  times. 

JOHN 
But  were  the  merchants  content? 

DAOUD 

Those  that  loved  merchandise  were  con- 
tent, master.  Those  that  loved  it  not  went 
into  the  mountains. 

JOHN 

But  were  they  content  when  they  were 
robbed  ? 

DAOUD 

They  soon  recovered  their  losses,  master. 
Their  prices  were  unjust  and  they  loved  usury. 

136 


IF 

JOHN 

And  were  the  people  content  with  unjust 
prices? 

DAOUD 

Some  were,  master,  as  men  have  to  be  in 
all  countries.  The  others  went  into  the  moun- 
tains and  robbed  the  merchants. 

JOHN 
I  see. 

DAOUD 

But  now,  master,  a  man  robs  a  merchant 
and  he  is  cast  into  prison.  Now  a  man  is 
slain  in  the  market  and  his  son,  his  own  son, 
master,  may  not  follpw  after  the  aggressor 
and  slay  him  and  burn  his  house.  They  are 
ill-content,  master.  No  man  robs  the  mer- 
chants, no  man  slays  them,  and  the  mer- 
chants' hearts  are  hardened  and  they  oppress 
all  men. 

JOHN 
I  see.    They  don't  like  good  government  ? 

DAOUD 
They  sigh  for  the  old  times,  master. 

JOHN 

I  see ;  I  see.  In  spite  of  all  I  have  done  for 
them,  they  want  their  old  bad  government 
back  again. 

137 


IF 

DAOUD 

It  is  the  old  way,  master. 

JOHN 

Yes,  yes.  And  so  they  would  rebel.  Well, 
we  must  watch.  You  have  warned  me  once 
again,  Daoud,  and  I  am  grateful.  But  you 
are  wrong,  Daoud,  about  the  gracious  lady. 
You  are  mistaken.  It  is  impossible.  You  are 
mistaken,  Daoud.  I  know  it  could  not  be. 

DAOUD 

I  am  mistaken,  master.  Indeed,  I  am  mis- 
taken. Yet,  watch.  Watch,  master. 

JOHN 
Well,  I  will  watch. 

DAOUD 

And,  master,  if  ever  I  come  to  you  bearing 
oars,  then  watch  no  longer,  master,  but  follow 
me  through  the  banquet  chamber  and  through 
the  room  beyond  it.  Move  as  the  wild  deer 
move  when  there  is  danger,  without  pausing, 
without  wondering,  without  turning  round; 
for  in  that  hour,  master,  in  that  hour  .  .  . 

JOHN 

Through  the  room  beyond  the  banquet 
chamber,  Daoud? 

138 


DAOUD 

Aye,  master,  following  me. 

JOHN 
But  there  is  no  door  beyond,  Daoud. 

DAOUD 
Master,  I  have  prepared  a  door. 

JOHN 
A  door,  Daoud  ? 

DAOUD 
A  door  none  wots  of,  master. 

JOHN 

Whither  does  it  lead  ? 

DAOUD 

To  a  room  that  you  know  not  of,  a  little 
room;  you  must  stoop,  master. 

JOHN 
O,  and  then? 

DAOUD 
To  the  river,  master. 

JOHN 

The  river!    But  there's  no  boat  there. 
139 


IF 

DAOUD 
Under  the  golden  willow,  master. 

JOHN 
A  boat  ? 

DAOUD 

Even  so,  under  the  branches. 

JOHN 

Is  it  come  to  that  ?  .    .    .     No,  Daoud,  all 
this  is  unnecessary.     It  can't  come  to  that. 

DAOUD 

If  ever  I  come  before  you  bearing  two  oars, 
in  that  hour,  master,  it  is  necessary. 

JOHN 

But  you  will  not  come.    It  will  never  come 
to  that. 

DAOUD 

No,  master. 

JOHN 

A  wise  man  can  stop  things  before  they 
get  as  far  as  that. 

DAOUD 

They  that  were  kings  in  Babylon  were  wise 
men,  master. 

140 


IF 

JOHN 

Babylon!     But   that   was   thousands   of 
years  ago. 

DAOUD 

Man  changes  not,  master. 

JOHN 

Well,  Daoud,  I  will  trust  you,  and  if  it 
ever  comes  to  that  .    .    . 

[Enter  MIRALDA.] 

MlRALDA 

I  thought  Daoud  was  gone. 

DAOUD 
Even  now  I  go,  gracious  lady. 

[Exit  DAOUD.  Rather  strained  silence 
with  JOHN  and  MIRALDA  till  he  goes. 
She  goes  and  makes  herself  comfortable 
on  the  cushions.  He  is  not  entirely  at  ease.] 

MIRALDA 
You  had  a  long  talk  with  Daoud. 

JOHN 
Yes,  he  came  and  talked  a  good  deal. 

MIRALDA 

What  about  ? 

141 


IF 


JOHN 

O,    just   talk;   you   know   these   Eastern 
people. 

MIRALDA 

I  thought  it  was  something  you  were  dis- 
cussing with  him. 

JOHN 
O,  no. 

MIRALDA 
Some  important  secret. 

JOHN 
No,  not  at  all. 

MIRALDA 
You  often  talk  with  Daoud. 

JOHN 

Yes,  he  is  useful  to  me.     When  he  talks 
sense  I  listen,  but  to-day  .    .    . 

MIRALDA 
What  did  he  come  for  to-day? 

JOHN 
O,  nothing. 

142 


IF 


MlRALDA 

You  have  a  secret  with  Daoud  that  you 
will  not  share  with  me. 


JOHN 
No,  I  have  not. 

MlRALDA 

What  was  it  he  said  ? 

JOHN 
He  said  there  was  a  king  in  Babylon  who 

[DAOUD  slips  into  the  room.] 

MlRALDA 

In  Babylon?    What  has  that  to  do  with 
us? 

JOHN 

Nothing.     I  told  you  he  was  not  talking 
sense. 

MlRALDA 

Well,  what  did  he  say? 

JOHN 

He  said  that  in  Babylon  .    .    . 
143 


IF 

DAOUD 

Hist! 

JOHN 
O,  well  .    .    . 

[MiRALDA    glares,    but    calms    herself 
and  says  nothing. 

Exit  DAOUD.] 

MIRALDA 
What  did  Daoud  say  of  Babylon? 

JOHN 

O,  well,  as  you  say,  it  had  nothing  to  do 
with  us. 

MIRALDA 
But  I  wish  to  hear  it. 

JOHN 
I  forget. 

[For  a  moment  there  is  silence.] 

MIRALDA 

John,  John.    Will  you  do  a  little  thing  for 
me? 

JOHN 

What  is  it? 

144 


IF 

MlRALDA 

Say  you  will  do  it,  John.    I  should  love  to 
have  one  of  my  little  wishes  granted. 

JOHN 

What  is  it? 

MlRALDA 

Kill  Daoud,   John.     I  want  you  to  kill 
Daoud. 

JOHN 
I  will  not. 

[He  walks  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
two  Nubians  in  silence.  She  plucks  petu- 
lantly at  a  pillow.  She  suddenly  calms 
herself.  A  light  comes  into  her  eyes.  The 
Nubians  go  on  fanning.  JOHN  goes  on 
pacing] 

MlRALDA 

John,  John,  I  have  forgotten  my  foolish 
fancies. 

JOHN 
I  am  glad  of  it. 

MlRALDA 

I  do  not  really  wish  you  to  kill  Daoud. 

JOHN  (same  voice] 
I'm  glad  you  don't. 

145 


IF 

MlRALDA 

I  have  only  one  fancy  now,  John. 

JOHN 
Well,  what  is  it? 

MlRALDA 

Give  a  banquet,  John.  I  want  you  to  give 
a  banquet. 

JOHN 

A  banquet?     Why? 

MlRALDA 

Is  there  any  harm  in  my  fancy  ? 

JOHN 

No. 

MlRALDA 

Then  if  I  may  not  be  a  queen,  and  if  you 
will  not  kill  Daoud  for  me,  give  a  banquet, 
John.  There  is  no  harm  in  a  banquet. 

JOHN 
Very  well.    When  do  you  want  it? 

MlRALDA 

To-morrow,  John.  Bid  all  the  great  ones 
to  it,  all  the  illustrious  ones  in  Al  Shaldomir. 

146 


IF 

JOHN 
Very  well. 

MIRALDA 
And  bid  Daoud  come. 

JOHN 
Daoud  ?    You  asked  me  to  kill  him. 

MIRALDA 
I  do  not  wish  that  any  longer,  John. 

JOHN 
You  have  queer  moods,  Miralda. 

MIRALDA 
May  I  not  change  my  moods,  John? 

JOHN 
I  don't  know.     I  don't  understand  them. 

MIRALDA 
And  ask  Hafiz  el  Alcolahn,  John. 

JOHN 
Hafiz?    Why? 

MIRALDA 

I  don't  know,  John.    It  was  just  my  fancy. 
147 


IF 

JOHN 
Your  fancy,  eh  ? 

MlRALDA 

That  was  all. 

JOHN 

Then  I  will  ask  him.    Have  you  any  other 

fancy  ? 

MlRALDA 

Not  now,  John. 

JOHN 
Then  go,  Miralda. 

MlRALDA 

Go? 

JOHN 
Yes. 

MlRALDA 

Why? 

JOHN 
Because  I  command  it. 

MlRALDA 

Because  you  command  it  ? 

JOHN 

Yes,  I,  the  Shereef  Al  Shaldomir. 
148 


IF 

MlRALDA 

Very  well. 
[Exit  L. 

He  walks  to  the  door  to  see  that  she  is 
really  gone.  He  comes  back  to  centre  and 
stands  with  back  to  audience,  putting  a 
cord  quietly  from  his  pocket  and  arranging 
it. 

He  moves  half  left  and  comes  up  behind 
BAZZALOL.  Suddenly  he  slips  the  cord 
over  BAZZALOL'S  head,  and  tightens  it 
round  his  neck.] 

[BAZZALOL  flops  on  his  knees. 

THOOTHOOBABA  goes  on  fanning.] 

JOHN 

Speak ! 

[BAZZALOL  is  silent. 

JOHN  tightens  it  more.  THOOTHOOBABA 
goes  on  quietly  fanning.] 

BAZZALOL 
I  cannot. 

JOHN 

If  you  would  speak,  raise  your  left  hand. 
If  you  raise  your  left  hand  and  do  not  speak 
you  shall  die- 

149 


IF 


[BAZZALOL  is  silent.  JOHN  tightens 
more.  BAZZALOL  raises  his  great  flabby 
left  hand  high.  JOHN  releases  the  cord. 
BAZZALOL  blinks  and  moves  his  mouth.] 

BAZZALOL 

Gracious  Shereef,   one  visited  the  great 
lady  and  gave  us  gold,  saying,  "Speak  not." 

JOHN 

When? 

BAZZALOL 

Great  master,  one  hour  since. 

JOHN  [a  little  viciously] 
Who? 

BAZZALOL 
O  heaven-sent,  he  was  Hafiz  el  Alcolahn. 

JOHN 
Give  me  the  gold. 

[BAZZALOL  gives  it.] 

[To  THOOTHOOBABA.]  Give  me  the 
gold. 

THOOTHOOBABA 
Master,  none  gave  me  gold. 

[JOHN  touches  his  dagger,  and  looks  like 
using  it. 

THOOTHOOBABA  gives  it.] 
150 


IF 

JOHN 

Take  back  your  gold.  Be  silent  about  this. 
You  too. 

[He  throws  gold  to  BAZZALOL.] 

Gold  does  not  make  you  silent,  but  there  is 
a  thing  that  does.  What  is  that  thing? 
Speak.  What  thing  makes  you  silent? 

BAZZALOL 

O,  great  master,  it  is  death. 

JOHN 

Death,  eh?  And  how  will  you  die  if  you 
speak?  You  know  how  you  will  die? 

BAZZALOL 

Yes,  heaven-sent. 

JOHN 
Tell  your  comrade,  then. 

BAZZALOL 
We  shall  be  eaten,  great  master. 

JOHN 
You  know  by  what  ? 


IF 


BAZZALOL 

Small  things,  great  master,  small  things. 
Oh-h-h-h.    Oh-h-h. 

[THOOTHOOBABA'S  knees  scarcely  hold 
him.] 

JOHN 
It  is  well. 

Curtain 


SCENE  2 

A  small  street.    Al  Shaldomir. 
Time:    Next  day. 

[Enter  L.  the  SHEIK  OF  THE  BISHAR- 

EENS. 

He  goes  to  an  old  green  door,  pointed  of 
course  in  the  Arabic  way.] 

SHEIK  OF  THE  BISHAREENS 
Ho,  Bishareens! 

[The  BISHAREENS  run  on.] 

SHEIK 
It  is  the  place  and  the  hour. 

BISHAREENS 
Ah,  ah! 

152 


Watch. 

[FIRST  BISHAREEN  goes  to  right,  and 
watches  up  sunny  street.] 

FIRST  BISHAREEN 
He  comes. 

[Enter  HAFIZ  EL  ALCOLAHN.    He  goes 
straight  up  to  the  SHEIK  and  whispers.] 

SHEIK  [turning] 
Hear,  O  Bishareens. 

[HAFIZ  places  flute  to  his  lips.] 

A  BISHAREEN 
And  the  gold,  master? 

SHEIK 
Silence !    It  is  the  signal. 

[HAFIZ  plays  a  weird,  strange  tune  on 
his  flute.] 

HAFIZ 

So. 

SHEIK 
Master,  once  more. 

[HAFIZ  raises  the  flute  again  to  his  lips.] 
153 


IF 

SHEIK 
Hear,  O  Bishareens! 

[He  plays  the  brief  tune  again.] 

HAFIZ  [to  SHEIK] 
Like  that. 

SHEIK 
We  have  heard,  O  master. 

[He  walks  away  L.  Hands  move  in 
the  direction  of  knife-hilts.] 

THE  BISHAREENS 
Ah,  ah! 

[Exit  HAFIZ. 

He  plays  a  merry  little  tune  on  his 
flute  as  he  walks  away.] 

Curtain 

SCENE  3 

The  banqueting  hall.  A  table  along  the 
back.  JOHN  and  MIRALDA  seated  with 
notables  of  Al  Shaldomir. 

JOHN  sits  in  the  centre,  with  MIRALDA 
on  his  right  and,  next  to  her,  HAFIZ  EL 
ALCOLAHN. 

154 


IF 

MIRALDA  [to  JOHN] 
You  bade  Daoud  be  present? 

JOHN 
Yes. 

MIRALDA 
He  is  not  here. 

JOHN 
Daoud  not  here? 

MIRALDA 
No. 

JOHN 
Why? 

MIRALDA 
We  all  obey  you,  but  not  Daoud. 

JOHN 
I  do  not  understand  it. 

A  NOTABLE 
The  Shereef  has  frowned. 

[Enter  R.  an  OFFICER- AT -ARMS.  He 
halts  at  once  and  salutes  with  his  sword, 
then  takes  a  side  pace  to  his  left,  standing 
against  the  wall,  sword  at  the  carry. 

JOHN  acknowledges  salute  by  touching 
his  forehead  with  the  inner  tips  of  his 
fingers.} 

155 


IF 


OFFICER-AT-ARMS 

Soldiers  of  Al  Shaldomir;  with  the  dance- 
step;  march. 

[Enter  R.  some  men  in  single  file; 
uniform,  pale  green  silks;  swords  at  carry. 
They  advance  in  single  file,  in  a  slightly 
serpentine  way,  deviating  to  their  left  a 
little  out  of  the  straight  and  returning  to  it, 
stepping  neatly  on  the  tips  oj  their  toes. 
Their  march  is  fantastic  and  odd  without 
being  exactly  funny. 

The  OFFICER-AT-ARMS  falls  in  on  their 
left  flank  and  marches  about  level  with  the 
third  or  fourth  man. 

When  he  reaches  the  centre  he  gives 
another  word  of  command.} 

OFFICER-AT-ARMS 
With  reverence :    Salute. 

[The  actor  who  takes  this  part  should 
have  been  an  officer  or  N.  C.  O. 

JOHN  stands  up  and  acknowledges  their 
salute  by  touching  his  forehead  with  the 
fingers  of  the  right  hand,  palm  turned 
inwards. 

Exeunt  soldiers  L.    JOHN  sits  down.] 

A  NOTABLE 

He  does  not  smile  this  evening. 
156 


IF 
A  WOMAN 


TheShereef? 


NOTABLE 
He  has  not  smiled. 

[Enter  R.  ZABNOOL,  a  CONJURER,  with 
brass  bowl.  He  bows.  He  walks  to  centre 
opposite  JOHN.  He  exhibits  his  bowl] 

ZABNOOL 

Behold.    The  bowl  is  empty. 
[ZABNOOL  produces  a  snake.] 

ZABNOOL 

Ah,  little  servant  of  Death. 
[He  produces  flowers] 

Flowers,  master,  flowers.  All  the  way  from 
Nowhere. 

[He  produces  birds] 

Birds,  master.  Birds  from  Nowhere. 
Sing,  sing  to  the  Shereef.  Sing  the  little 
empty  songs  of  the  land  of  Nowhere. 

[He  seats  himself  on  the  ground  facing 
JOHN.  He  puts  the  bowl  on  the  ground. 
He  places  a  piece  of  silk,  with  queer  de- 
signs on  it,  over  the  bowl.  He  partly 
draws  the  silk  away  with  his  left  hand  and 
puts  in  his  right.  He  brings  out  a  young 
crocodile  and  holds  it  by  the  neck] 

157 


IF 


CONJURER 

Behold,  O  Shereef;  O  people,  behold;  a 
crocodile. 

[He  arises  and  bows  to  JOHN  and  wraps 
up  the  crocodile  in  some  drapery  and  walks 
away.  As  he  goes  he  addresses  his  croco- 
dile.] 

O  eater  of  lambs,  O  troubler  of  the  rivers, 
you  sought  to  evade  me  in  an  empty  bowl. 
O  thief,  O  appetite,  you  sought  to  evade  the 
Shereef.  The  Shereef  has  seen  you,  O  vexer 
of  swimmers,  O  pig  in  armour,  O  .  .  . 

[Exit. 

SHABEESH,  another  CONJURER,  rushes 
on.] 

SHABEESH 

Bad  man,  master;  he  very,  very  bad  man. 

[He  pushes  ZABNOOL  away  roughly,  im- 
petus of  which  carries  ZABNOOL  to  the 
wings.] 

Very,  very  bad  man,  master. 

MIRALDA  [reprovingly] 
Zabnool  has  amused  us. 

SHABEESH 

He  very,  very  bad  man,  lily  lady.  He  get 
crocodile  from  devil.  From  devil  Poolyana, 
lily  lady.  Very,  very  bad. 

158 


IF 


MlRALDA 

He  may  call  on  devils  if  he  amuse  us, 
Shabeesh. 

SHABEESH 

But  Poolyana,  my  devil.  He  call  on  my 
devil,  lily  lady.  Very,  very,  very  bad.  My 
devil  Poolyana. 

MIRALDA 

Call  on  him  yourself,  Shabeesh.  Amuse 
us. 

SHABEESH 
Shall  one  devil  serve  two  masters? 

MIRALDA 

Why  not? 

SHABEESH  [beginning  to  wave  priestly  conjurer's 
hands] 

Very  bad  man  go  away.  Go  away,  bad 
man :  go  away,  bad  man.  Poolyana  not  want 
bad  man :  Poolyana  only  work  for  good  man. 
He  mighty  fine  devil.  Poolyana,  Poolyana. 
Big,  black,  fine,  furry  devil.  Poolyana,  Pool- 
yana, Poolyana.  O  fine,  fat  devil  with  big 
angry  tail.  Poolyana,  Poolyana,  Poolyana. 
Send  me  up  fine  young  pig  for  the  Shereef. 
Poolyana,  Poolyana.  Lil  yellow  pig  with 
curly  tail.  [Small  pig  appears.]  O  Pooly- 

159 


IF 


ana,  great  Poolyana.  Fine  black  fur  and 
grey  fur  underneath.  Fine  ferocious  devil, 
you  my  devil,  Poolyana.  O,  Poolyana,  Pooly- 
ana, Poolyana.  Send  me  a  big  beast  what 
chew  bad  man's  crocodile.  Big  beast  with 
big  teeth,  eat  him  like  a  worm. 

[He  has  spread  large  silk  handkerchief 
on  floor  and  is  edging  back  from  it  in 
alarm.] 

Long  nails  in  him  toes,  big  like  lion, 
Poolyana.  Send  great  smelly  big  beast — eat 
up  bad  man's  crocodile. 

[At  first  stir  of  handkerchief  SHABEESH 
leaps  in  alarm.] 

He  come,  he  come.  I  see  his  teeth  and 
horns. 

[Enter  small  live  rabbit  from  trapdoor 
under  handkerchief] 

O,  Poolyana,  you  big  devil  have  your  liddle 
joke.  You  laugh  at  poor  conjuring  man. 
You  send  him  HI  rabbit  to  eat  big  crocodile. 
Bad  Poolyana.  Bad  Poolyana. 

[Whacks  ground  with  stick.] 
You  plenty  bad  devil,  Poolyana. 

[Whacking  it  again.  Handkerchief  has 
been  thrown  on  ground  again.  Handker- 
chief stirs  slightly] 

No,  no,  Poolyana.  You  not  bad  devil. 
You  not  bad  devil.  You  plenty  good  devil, 
Poolyana.  No,  no,  no !  Poor  conjuring  man 

160 


quite  happy  on  muddy  earth.  No,  Poolyana, 
no !  O,  no,  no,  devil.  O,  no,  no !  Hell  plenty 
nice  place  for  devil.  Master!  He  not  my 
devil!  He  other  man's  devil! 

JOHN 

What's  this  noise?  What's  it  about? 
What's  the  matter? 

SHABEESH  [in  utmost  terror] 
He  coming,  master !     Coming ! 

ZABNOOL 

Poolyana,  Poolyana,  Poolyana.  Stay 
down,  stay  down,  Poolyana.  Stay  down  in 
nice  warm  hell,  Poolyana.  The  Shereef  want 
no  devil  to-day. 

[ZABNOOL  before  speaking  returns  to 
centre  and  pats  air  over  ground  where 
handkerchief  lies. 

Then  SHABEESH  and  ZABNOOL  come 
together  side  by  side  and  bow  and  smile 
together  toward  the  SHEREEF.  Gold  is 
thrown  to  them,  which  ZABNOOL  gathers 
and  hands  to  SHABEESH,  who  gives  a  share 
back  to  ZABNOOL.] 

A  NOTABLE 

The  Shereef  is  silent. 

[Enter  three  women  R.  in  single  file, 
dancing,  and  carrying  baskets  full  of  pink 
rose-leaves.  They  dance  across,  throwing 

11  161 


IF 


down  rose-leaves,  leaving  a  path  of  them 
behind  them.     Exeunt  L.] 

A  NOTABLE 
Still  he  is  silent. 

MlRALDA 

Why  do  you  not  speak  ? 

JOHN 
I  do  not  wish  to  speak. 

MlRALDA 

Why? 

[Enter  OMAR  with  his  zither.] 

OMAR  [singing] 

Al  Shaldomir,  Al  Shaldomir, 

Birds  sing  thy  praises  night  and  day; 
The  nightingale  in  every  wood, 

Blackbirds  in  fields  profound  with  may ; 

Birds  sing  of  thee  by  every  way. 

Al  Shaldomir,  Al  Shaldomir, 

My  heart  is  ringing  with  thee  still ; 

Though  far  away,  O  fairy  fields, 
My  soul  flies  low  by  every  hill 
And  misses  not  one  daffodil. 

Al  Shaldomir,  Al  Shaldomir, 
O  mother  of  my  roving  dreams, 

Blue  is  the  night  above  thy  spires, 
And  blue  by  myriads  of  streams, 
Paradise  through  thy  gateway  gleams. 

162 


IF 

MlRALDA 

Why  do  you  not  wish  to  speak? 

JOHN 
You  desire  me  to  speak? 

MIRALDA 

No.  They  all  wonder  why  you  do  not 
speak ;  that  is  all. 

JOHN 
I  will  speak.    They  shall  hear  me. 

MIRALDA 
O,  there  is  no  need  to. 

JOHN 

There  is  a  need.  [He  rises.]  People  of 
Shaldomir,  behold  I  know  your  plottings. 
I  know  the  murmurings  that  you  murmur 
against  me.  When  I  sleep  in  my  inner  cham- 
ber my  ear  is  in  the  market,  while  I  sit  at 
meat  I  hear  men  whisper  far  hence  and  know 
their  innermost  thoughts.  Hope  not  to  over- 
come me  by  your  plans  nor  by  any  manner  of 
craftiness.  My  gods  are  gods  of  brass ;  none 
have  escaped  them.  They  cannot  be  over- 
thrown. Of  all  men  they  favour  my  people. 
Their  hands  reach  out  to  the  uttermost  ends 
of  the  earth.  Take  heed,  for  my  gods  are 
terrible.  I  am  the  Shereef ;  if  any  dare  with- 
stand me  I  will  call  on  my  gods  and  they  shall 

163 


IF 


crush  him  utterly.  They  shall  grind  him  into 
the  earth  and  trample  him  under,  as  though 
he  had  not  been.  The  uttermost  parts  have 
feared  the  gods  of  the  English.  They  reach 
out,  they  destroy,  there  is  no  escape  from 
them.  Be  warned ;  for  I  do  not  permit  any 
to  stand  against  me.  The  laws  that  I  have 
given  you,  you  shall  keep ;  there  shall  be  no 
other  laws.  Whoso  murmurs  shall  know  my 
wrath  and  the  wrath  of  my  gods.  Take  heed, 
I  speak  not  twice.  I  spoke  once  to  Hussein. 
Hussein  heard  not ;  and  Hussein  is  dead ;  his 
ears  are  closed  for  ever.  Hear,  O  people. 

HAFIZ 

0  Shereef,  we  murmur  not  against  you. 

JOHN 

1  know  thoughts  and  hear  whispers.     I 
need  not  instruction,  Hafiz. 

HAFIZ 

You  exalt  yourself  over  us  as  none  did 
aforetime. 

JOHN 

Yes.  And  I  will  exalt  myself.  I  have  been 
Shereef  hitherto,  but  now  I  will  be  king.  Al 
Shaldomir  is  less  than  I  desire.  I  have  ruled 
too  long  over  a  little  country.  I  will  be  the 
equal  of  Persia.  I  will  be  king ;  I  proclaim  it. 
The  pass  is  mine;  the  mountains  shall  be 
mine  also.  And  he  that  rules  the  mountains 

164 


IF 


has  mastery  over  all  the  plains  beyond.  If 
the  men  of  the  plains  will  not  own  it  let  them 
make  ready;  for  my  wrath  will  fall  on  them 
in  the  hour  when  they  think  me  afar,  on  a 
night  when  they  think  I  dream.  I  proclaim 
myself  king  over  .  .  . 

[HAFIZ  pulls  out  his  flute  and  plays  the 
weird,  strange  tune.  JOHN  looks  at  him  in 
horrified  anger.] 

JOHN 

The  penalty  is  death !  Death  is  the  punish- 
ment for  what  you  do,  Hafiz.  You  have 
dared  while  I  spoke.  Hafiz,  your  contempt  is 
death.  Go  to  Hussein.  I,  the  king  .  .  . 
say  it. 

[DAOUD  has  entered  R.,  bearing  two 
oars.  DAOUD  walks  across,  not  looking 
at  JOHN.  Exit  by  small  door  in  L.  near 
back. 

JOHN  gives  one  look  at  the  banqueters, 
then  he  follows  DAOUD.  Exit. 

All  look  astonished.  Some  rise  and 
peer.  HAFIZ  draws  his  knife.} 

OMAR  [singing 

Al  Shaldomir,  Al  Shaldomir, 

The  nightingales  that  guard  thy  ways 
Cease  not  to  give  thee,  after  God 

And  after  Paradise,  all  praise, 

165 


IF 

CRIES  [off] 

Kill  the  unbeliever.  Kill  the  dog.  Kill  the 
Christian. 

[Enter  the  SHEIK  OF  THE  BISHAREENS, 
followed  by  all  his  men.] 

SHEIK 
We  are  the  Bishareens,  master. 

[MIRALDA  standing  up,  right  arm  akim- 
bo, left  arm  pointing  perfectly  straight  out 
towards  the  small  door,  hand  extended] 

MIRALDA 
He  is  there. 

[The  BISHAREENS  run  off  through  the 
little  door.] 

A  NOTABLE 
Not  to  interfere  with  old  ways  is  wisest. 

ANOTHER 
Indeed,  it  would  have  been  well  for  him. 

[The  BISHAREENS  begin  to  return  look- 
ing all  about  them  like  disappointed 
hounds] 

A  BISHAREEN 
He  is  not  there,  master. 

HAFIZ 

Not  there?  Not  there?  Why,  there  is  no 
door  beyond.  He  must  needs  be  there,  and 
his  chief  spy  with  him. 

166 


IF 

SHEIK  [off] 
He  is  not  here. 

MIRALDA  [turning  round  and  clawing  the  wall] 
O,  I  was  weary  of  him.    I  was  weary  of  him. 

HAFIZ 

Be  comforted,  pearl  of  the  morning;  he  is 
gone. 

MIRALDA 

When  I  am  weary  of  a  man  he  must  die. 
[He  embraces  her  knees.] 

ZAGBOOLA  [who  has  come  on  with  a  little  crowd 
that  followed    the    BISHAREENS.      She    is 
blind.] 

Lead  me  to  Hafiz.  I  am  the  mother  of 
Hafiz.  Lead  me  to  Hafiz.  [They  lead  her 
near.]  Hafiz !  Hafiz ! 

[She  finds  his  shoulder  and  tries  to  drag 
him  away.] 

HAFIZ 

Go!  Go!  I  have  found  the  sole  pearl  of 
the  innermost  deeps  of  the  sea. 

[He  is  kneeling  and  kissing  MIRALDA'S 
hand.    ZAGBOOLA  wails.] 

Curtain 
167 


ACT  IV 
SCENE  i 

Three  years  elapse. 

Scene:     The  street  outside  the  Acacias. 

Time:    Evening. 

[Ali  leans  on  a  pillar-box  watching. 

John  shuffles  on  L.  He  is  miserably 
dressed,  an  Englishman  down  on  his  luck. 

A  nightingale  sings  far  off.] 

JOHN 
A  nightingale  here.    Well,  I  never. 

Al  Shaldomir,  Al  Shaldomir, 

The  nightingales  that  guard  thy  ways 
Cease  not  to  give  thee,  after  God 

And  after  Paradise,  all  praise.  .  .  . 

The  infernal  place!  I  wish  I  had  never 
seen  it!  Wonder  what  set  me  thinking  of 
that? 

[The  nightingale  sings  another  bar. 
JOHN  turns  to  his  left  and  walks  down  the 
little  path  that  leads  to  the  door  of  the 
Acacias.] 

168 


I  mustn't  come  here.  Mustn't  come  to  a 
fine  house  like  this.  Mustn't.  Mustn't. 

[He  draws  near  it  reluctantly.  He  puts 
his  hand  to  the  bell  and  withdraws  it. 
Then  he  rings  and  snatches  his  hand  away. 
He  prepares  to  run  away.  Finally  he  rings 
it  repeatedly,  feverishly,  violently. 

Enter  LIZA,  opening  the  door.} 

LIZA 
Ullo,  'Go's  this! 

JOHN 

I  oughtn't  to  have  rung,  miss,  I  know.  I 
oughtn't  to  have  rung  your  bell;  but  I've 
seen  better  days,  and  wondered  if — I  won- 
dred  .  .  . 

LIZA 

I  oughtn't  to  'ave  opened  the  door,  that's 
wot  7  oughtn't.  Now  I  look  at  you,  I 
oughtn't  to  'ave  opened  it.  Wot  does  you 
want? 

JOHN 

O,  don't  turn  me  away  now,  miss.  I  must 
come  here.  I  must. 

LIZA 

Must?    Why? 

JOHN 
I  don't  know. 

169 


IF 

LIZA 

Wot  do  you  want? 

JOHN 
Who  lives  here? 

LIZA 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cater;  firm  of  Briggs,  Cater, 
and  Johnstone.  What  do  you  want  ? 

JOHN 

Could  I  see  Mr.  Cater? 

LIZA 
He's  out.  Dining  at  the  Mansion  House. 

JOHN 
Oh. 

LIZA 
He  is. 

JOHN 

Could  I  see  Mrs.  Cater? 

LIZA 

See  Mrs.  Cater?  No,  of  course  you 
couldn't. 

[She  prepares  to  shut  the  door] 

JOHN 

Miss !  Miss !  Don't  go,  miss.  Don't  shut 
me  out.  If  you  knew  what  I'd  suffered,  if 
you  knew  what  I'd  suffered.  Don't! 

170 


IF 

LIZA,  [coming  forward  again] 

Suffered?    Why?    Ain't  you  got  enough  to 
eat? 

JOHN 
No,  I've  had  nothing  all  day. 

LIZA 

'Aven't  you  really  now? 

JOHN 

No.    And  I  get  little  enough  at  any  time. 

LIZA  [kindly] 
You  ought  to  work. 

JOHN 

1   ...   I  can't.    I  can't  bring  myself  .  .  . 
I  ...  I've  seen  better  times. 

LIZA 
Still,  you  could  work. 

JOHN 

I — I  can't  grub  for  halfpennies  when  I've 
—when  I've  .    .    . 

LIZA 

When  you've  what  ? 

JOHN 
Lost  millions. 

171 


IF 

LIZA 

Millions  ? 

JOHN 
I've  lost  everything. 

LIZA 
'Ow  did  you  lose  it? 

JOHN 

Through  being  blind.  But  never  mind, 
never  mind.  It's  all  gone  now,  and  I'm 
hungry. 

LIZA 
'Ow  long  'ave  you  been  down  on  your  luck? 

JOHN 
It's  three  years  now. 

LIZA 
Couldn't  get  a  regular  job,  like? 

JOHN 

Well,  I  suppose  I  might  have.  I  suppose 
it's  my  fault,  miss.  But  the  heart  was  out  of 
me. 

LIZA 
Dear  me,  now 

JOHN 

Miss. 

172 


IF 

LIZA. 

Yes? 

JOHN 

You've  a  kind  face  .    .    . 

LIZA 
'Avel? 

JOHN 
Yes.    Would  you  do  me  a  kind  turn? 

LIZA 

Well,  I  dunno.  I  might,  as  yer  so  down 
on  yer  luck — I  don't  like  to  see  a  man  like 
you  are,  I  must  say. 

JOHN 

Would  you  let  me  come  into  the  big  house 
and  speak  to  the  missus  a  moment  ? 

LIZA 

She'd  row  me  awful  if  I  did.  This  house  is 
very  respectable. 

JOHN 

I  feel,  if  you  would,  I  feel,  I  feel  my  luck 
might  change. 

LIZA 
But  I  don't  know  what  she'd  say  if  I  did. 

JOHN 
Miss,  I  must. 


IF 

LIZA 

I  don't  know  wot  she'd  say. 

JOHN 

I  must  come  in,  miss,  I  must. 

LIZA 
I  don't  know  what  she'll  say. 

JOHN 
I  must.    I  can't  help  myself. 

LIZA 

I  don't  know  what  she'll  .    .    . 
UOHN  is  in,  door  shuts.] 

[ALi  throws  his  head  up  and  laughs, 
but  quite  silently.] 

Curtain 

SCENE  2 

The  drawing-room  at  the  Acacias. 
A  moment  later. 

The  scene  is  the  same  as  in  Act  I,  except 
that  the  sofa  which  was  red  is  now  green, 
and  the  photograph  of  Aunt  Martha  is 
replaced  by  that  of  a  frowning  old  colonel. 
The  ages  of  the  four  children  in  the  photo- 


IF 


graphs  are  the  same,  but  their  sexes  have 
changed. 

[MARY  reading.    Enter  LIZA.] 

LIZA 

There's  a  gentleman  to  see  you,  mum, 
which  is,  properly  speaking,  not  a  gentleman 
at  all,  but  'e  would  come  in,  mum. 

MARY 

Not  a  gentleman!  Good  gracious,  Liza, 
whatever  do  you  mean? 

'E  would  come  in,  mum. 

MARY 
But  what  does  he  want  ? 

LIZA  [over  shoulder] 
What  does  you  want  ? 

JOHN  [entering] 
I  am  a  beggar. 

MARY 

O,  really?  You've  no  right  to  be  coming 
into  houses  like  this,  you  know. 

JOHN 

I  know  that,  madam,  I  know  that.  Yet 
somehow  I  couldn't  help  myself.  I've  been 
begging  for  nearly  three  years  now,  and  I've 

175 


IF 


never  done  this  before,  yet  somehow  to-night 
I  felt  impelled  to  come  to  this  house.  I  beg 
your  pardon,  humbly.  Hunger  drove  me  to 
it. 

MARY 
Hunger  ? 

JOHN 
I'm  very  hungry,  madam. 

MARY 

Unfortunately  Mr.  Cater  has  not  yet  re- 
turned, or  perhaps  he  might  .  .  . 

JOHN 

If  you  could  give  me  a  little  to  eat  your- 
self, madam,  a  bit  of  stale  bread,  a  crust, 
something  that  Mr.  Cater  would  not  want. 

MARY 

It's  very  unusual,  coming  into  a  house  like 
this  and  at  such  an  hour — it's  past  eleven 
o'clock — and  Mr.  Cater  not  yet  returned. 
Are  you  really  hungry? 

JOHN 
I'm  very,  very  hungry. 

MARY 

Well,  it's  very  unusual;  but  perhaps  I 
might  get  you  a  little  something. 

[She  picks  up  an  empty  plate  from  the 
supper  table.] 

176 


IF 

JOHN 

Madam,  I  do  not  know  how  to  thank  you. 

MARY 

O,  don't  mention  it. 

JOHN 

I  have  not  met  such  kindness  for  three 
years.  I  .  .  .I'm  starving.  I've  known 
better  times. 

MARY  [kindly] 

I'll  get  you  something.  You've  known 
better  times,  you  say? 

JOHN 

I  had  been  intended  for  work  in  the  City. 
And  then,  then  I  travelled,  and — and  I  got 
very  much  taken  with  foreign  countries,  and 
I  thought — but  it  all  went  to  pieces.  I  lost 
everything.  Here  I  am,  starving. 

MARY  [as  one  might  reply  to  the  Mayoress  who 
had  lost  her  gloves] 

O,  I'm  so  sorry. 

[JOHN  sighs  deeply.] 

MARY 
I'll  get  a  nice  bit  of  something  to  eat. 


IF 


JOHN 

A  thousand  thanks  to  you,  madam. 
[Exit  MARY  with  the  plate.} 

LIZA  [who  has  been  standing  near  the  door  all  the 
time] 

Well,  she's  going  to  get  you  something. 

JOHN 
Heaven  reward  her. 

LIZA 
Hungry  as  all  that  ? 

JOHN 

I'm  on  my  beam  ends. 

LIZA 
Cheer  up ! 

JOHN 

That's  all  very  well  to  say,  living  in  a  fine 
house,  as  you  are,  dry  and  warm  and  well-fed. 
But  what  have  I  to  cheer  up  about  ? 

LIZA 
Isn't  there  anything  you  could  pop? 

JOHN 
What? 

LIZA 

Nothing  you  can  take  to  the  pawn-shop? 
I've  tided  over  times  I  wanted  a  bit  of  cash 
that  way  sometimes. 

178 


IF 

JOHN 
What  could  I  pawn  ? 

LIZA 
Well,  well  you've  a  watch-chain. 

JOHN 
A  bit  of  old  leather. 

LIZA 
But  what  about  the  watch? 

JOHN 

I've  no  watch. 

LIZA 
O,  funny  having  a  watch-chain  then. 

JOHN 
O,  that's  only  for  this;  it's  a  bit  of  crystal. 

LIZA 
Funny  bit  of  a  thing.    What's  it  for? 

JOHN 
I  don't  know. 

LIZA 

Was  it  give  to  you  ? 

JOHN 

I  don't  know.    I  don't  know  how  I  got  it. 
179 


IF 

LIZA 

Don't  know  how  you  got  it? 

JOHN 

No,  I  can't  remember  at  all.  But  I've  a 
feeling  about  it,  I  can't  explain  what  I  feel; 
but  I  don't  part  with  it. 

LIZA 

Don't  you?  You  might  get  something  on 
it,  likely,  and  have  a  square  meal. 

JOHN 

I  won't  part  with  it. 

LIZA 

Why? 

JOHN 

I  feel  I  won't.    I  never  have. 

LIZA 
Feel  you  won't? 

JOHN 

Yes,  I  have  that  feeling  very  strongly. 
I've  kept  it  always.  Everything  else  is  gone. 

LIZA 
Had  it  long? 

JOHN 

Yes,  yes.  About  ten  years.  I  found  I  had 
it  one  morning  in  a  train.  It's  odd  that  I 
can't  remember. 

1 80 


IF 

LIZA 
But  wot  d'yer  keep  it  for? 

JOHN 
Just  for  luck. 

[LiZA  breaks  into  laughter.} 

LIZA 
Well,  you  are  funny. 

JOHN 

I'm  on  my  beam  ends.  I  don't  know  if  that 
is  funny. 

LIZA 

You're  as  down  in  your  luck  as  ever  you 
can  be,  and  you  go  keeping  a  thing  like  that 
for  luck.  Why,  you  couldn't  be  funnier. 

JOHN 
Well,  what  would  you  do? 

LIZA 

Why,  I  'ad  a  mascot  once,  all  real  gold;  and 
I  had  rotten  luck.  Rotten  luck  I  had. 
Rotten. 

JOHN 

And  what  did  you  do? 

LIZA 

Took  it  back  to  the  shop. 
181 


IF 

JOHN 
Yes? 

LIZA 

They  was  quite  obliging  about  it.  Gave 
me  a  wooden  one  instead,  what  was  guaran- 
teed. Luck  changed  very  soon  altogether. 

JOHN 
Could  luck  like  mine  change? 

LIZA 

Course  it  could. 

JOHN 
Look  at  me. 

LIZA 

You'll  be  all  right  one  of  these  days.  Give 
me  that  mascot. 

JOHN 

I — I  hardly  like  to.  One  has  an  awfully 
strong  feeling  with  it. 

LIZA 
Give  it  to  me.    It's  no  good. 

JOHN 
I — I  don't  like  to. 

182 


IF 


LIZA 

You  just  give  it  to  me.  I  tell  you  it's  doing 
you  no  good.  I  know  all  about  them  mascots. 
Give  it  me. 

JOHN 

Well,  well,  I'll  give  it  you.  You're  the 
first  woman  that's  been  kind  to  me  since 
.  .  .  I'm  on  my  beam  ends. 

[Face  in  hands — tears.] 

LIZA 

There,  there.  I'm  going  to  smash  it,  I  am. 
These  mascots!  One's  better  without  'em. 
Your  luck'll  turn,  never  fear.  And  you've  a 
nice  supper  coming. 

[She  puts  it  in  a  corner  of  the  mantel- 
piece and  hammers  it.  It  smashes. 

The  photographs  of  the  four  children 
change  slightly.  The  Colonel  gives  place 
to  Aunt  Martha.  The  green  sofa  turns  red. 
JOHN'S  clothes  become  neat  and  tidy.  The 
hammer  in  LIZA'S  hand  turns  to  a  feather 
duster.  Nothing  else  changes.} 

A  VOICE  [off,  in  agony] 
Allah!    Allah!    Allah! 

LIZA 

Some  foreign  gentleman  must  have  hurt 
himself. 

183 


JOHN 

H'm.     Sounds  like  it   ...    Liza. 

[LiZA,  dusting  the  photographs  on  the 
wall,  just  behind  the  corner  of  the  mantel- 
piece,] 

LIZA 

Funny.  Thought  I — thought  I  'ad  a  ham- 
mer in  my  hand. 

JOHN 

Really,  Liza,  I  often  think  you  have.  You 
really  should  be  more  careful.  Only — only 
yesterday  you  broke  the  glass  of  Miss  Jane's 
photograph. 

LIZA 

Thought  it  was  a  hammer. 

JOHN 

Really,  I  think  it  sometimes  is.  It's  a 
mistake  you  make  too  often,  Liza.  You — 
you  must  be  more  careful. 

LIZA 

Very  well,  sir.  Funny  my  thinking  I  'ad 
an  'ammer  in  my  'and,  though. 

[She  goes  to  tidy  the  little  supper  table. 
Enter  MARY  with  jood  on  a  plate.} 

MARY 

I've  brought  you  your  supper,  John. 
184 


IF 

JOHN 

Thanks,  Mary.  I — I  think  I  must  have 
taken  a  nap. 

MARY 

Did  you,  dear?  Thanks,  Liza.  Run  along 
to  bed  now,  Liza.  Good  gracious,  it's  half- 
past  eleven. 

[MARY   makes  final  arrangements  of 
supper  table.] 

LIZA 

Thank  you,  mum. 
[Exit.] 

JOHN 

Mary. 

MARY 
Yes,  John. 

JOHN 
I — I  thought  I'd  caught  that  train. 


Curtain 


185 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


REC'D  COL  LIB. 

f»  -x   ^ 

JUL21196S 


Book  Slip-25m-9,'60(B2S36s4)4280 


THE  LIBRA*? 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CAIIFQRH1A 
LOS  ANGFT  KS 


UCLA-College  Library 

PR  60070921 


L  005  682  948  4 


College 
Librarv 


PR 

6007 

D921 


